Belonging
by forthelongestday
Summary: A routine walk down an alley in Laredo sets into motion the events that end Charlotte's life, and sends her tumbling into a dark world full of hate and war.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A huge, gigantic thank you to THEChickNorris and GemmaLisaX for agreeing to pre-read this crazy thing. Also, much love to SweeneyAnne for being there every step of the way, and betaing to boot.**

**This fic is complete, and chapters will post as they get beta'd. There's going to be about 7, maybe 8.**

**Now, this is listed as Angst/Horror for a reason, so if you're looking for something bright and happy, then you're in the wrong place. Seriously.**

**Don't own Twilight.**

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><p>"You breathed, and then you stopped<br>I breathe, then drag you off  
>And tonight I feel...I feel like more"<br>-Digital Bath, Deftones

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><p><strong>April, 1880<strong>

It felt like waking from a nightmare, that kind of horrible dream where your heart pounds and terror runs through your veins as your limbs ache and lungs scream with the desire for just one full gasp of air. There had been wind and burning, pain and confusion, this undeniable fire flowing through my veins and spewing out my mouth...it had been such an odd dream.

The first thing I consciously thought was that this world was not my own. The second was that I had no idea what was different, because as I tried to think back so I could identify the differences there was so little there; a fog had settled over everything that I ever had been, obstructed all that I knew and had seen of life and the world, until only a blurry silhouette remained.

I could imagine the face of an older man with thinning hair, perhaps the vision of a house...but who and where were just barely this side of lost to me, only the feeling of familiarity remained. It was so strange to know the man was my Father, to almost remember him; the way he smiled and laughed, the stern voice he used to teach me right from wrong. It was nearly there, but not quite, as if I were separated from him by a deceptively thick and not quite translucent screen. I could almost feel it coming back to me and slipping through my fingers all at once.

It felt like being born out of a void and into fire that licked at my skin and jumped down my throat.

Something was wrong, everything was wrong...this wasn't right in any sense of the word. The air had taste, the smells came in staggering pulses; my heart should have been pounding with this fearful anticipation that coursed through me—but there was nothing. Heat flowed in waves, I could feel the orange of it bounding off my skin—but it was all shrouded in black and empty, and darkness crept in from the corners beneath the lids of my eyes.

I could remember walking, could remember a man with dark curls at the ends of his hair, passionate eyes and a somewhat sadistic smile...

"I think so," said a deep, rumbling voice; quiet, and yet so very loud.

It felt like I'd been screaming for years and had lost my voice before it had even begun.

When my eyelids slid open I thought that I must still be trapped in my nightmare. The grey of the concrete ceiling above my head was splintered and worn, and I was compelled to visually track each of the cracks that fractured the subtle bumps and crags of the surface.

I imagined that this burning in my throat was what it felt like to swallow a flame, and somewhere in my mind I knew that something awful had happened, that I had indeed woken from that horrendous dream filled with agony and raging fires burning me alive, and it was only a matter of time until I'd wish I were still sleeping.

"Mornin' sweetheart," that same deep voice drawled.

The sound startled me upright, my eyes shot to the source to see a tall man with nearly black hair leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest...and I didn't know him, but I remembered him. He'd done something horrible to me.

"You." The word came out as a growl, and my hand flew to my throat; I wasn't capable of such a sound.

"Sir," the man corrected, raising his right eyebrow in a perfect arch. His skin had a strange pattern etched into it, every few inches semi-circles shone just a little lighter on his flesh, and had I not known better I would have sworn they were teeth marks. The patterns stirred a memory within me, and in that moment I could just barely see his face in a memory of an alley in Laredo; I could almost feel his hands on my shoulders and teeth against my throat, and I bolted backward from him; my back against the wall.

The man laughed darkly, "The danger I present to you has mostly passed."

One word pounded in my head over and over, it ran through my veins and flowed into my limbs, and I twitched ever so slightly in time with the repetitive thundering of _escape, escape, escape._

This room was too small, far too small. The empty walls closed in on me from all sides as the man drew closer. He took step after step, and my mind tracked how many paces were left before he was upon me.

_Escape... Run... Fight..._

He was two feet away when a jolt of electricity surged through my veins, and I had no idea what this body of mine was doing; I watched from outside myself as I lunged and flexed my jaw. I couldn't run, I had to attack. This dark and disturbing force pulling at my strings wanted my teeth in him, wanted to bite and maim, and rip him into shreds—he'd done the same to me.

He caught me by my hair and spun me around, pressing my back into his chest with his arm wound tight around my neck in a choke hold. Somewhere in the struggle the flesh of his forearm parted beneath my teeth, and the sick sense of satisfaction that flowed through me gave me enough pause that the man was able to fling me back across the room.

It felt good to know I could hurt him.

I should have been appalled with my behavior, but there was too much space in my head, too little in this room, and it all swam in and out of focus too quick to grab hold of anything; all else was lost in the shuffle.

It felt like sinking into a deep dark abyss in the middle of a vast and cold ocean.

The wooden door to his left flew open with a sharp crack against the flaking and aged concrete, and another man entered the room; this one a little taller, and blond. His stance was that of a predator, and as his eyes swept over the room, passing mine for only a second. I shivered in place with chills that wouldn't quite come as my head whirred off into other contingencies now that there were two of them. The dark haired man rubbed at the spot where I'd bitten him, and the shape and texture were the same as the rest. The same semi-circles littered the blonde's exposed arms and neck, though he wore more than the dark-haired man, and I now understood what I'd failed to comprehend upon first glance. These men were dangerous, and those bite-marks littering their flesh were medallions displaying the threat they presented.

Getting away wasn't going to be easy, especially since I thought my chest might explode from fear if I found myself within arm's reach of the newcomer. Terror was not enough to begin to describe the feeling that welled up inside of me at the sight of this blond devil; I would rather come face to face with a panther. As his eyes passed over the room once more they met mine for the briefest of moments. The right corner of his lip curled up ever so slightly, and a million horrific words passed through my head all at once; not one of them was apt, he was a level above all of them.

The blond tilted and turned his head, and shared a meaningful look with the other man for a moment.

"I've got it under control," the dark-haired man said gratingly, his lips pressed together and eyes narrowed as he shook his arm at his side. When his companion made no indication of leaving, he spoke again. "Take care of your own shit, I've got this."

The words were harder, lower, and for a moment I wondered which of them was actually in charge, though from the way the blond stood just a little straighter and said all he needed with just a look, I knew it was him. Something had passed between the pair, something I couldn't quite catch in the atmosphere, but my main concern was the blond man's presence, and once he left in a wake of annoyance, all other questions quickly departed with him in favor of focusing on just what was wrong with me and where I was.

"First few meals are delivery," the too familiar man said with a smirk.

"I'm not hungry." My throat burned with my words, but I would refuse anything he offered me. This man had done something terrible to me, had sent me spiraling into the abyss of a torturous nightmare that I wasn't entirely sure I had even escaped.

"You will be," he replied ominously, and I flinched away from his approaching form.

He towered over me, and my eyes slid to my forearms, shocked at the lack of goose bumps; I felt chilled.

"You can come along willingly or I can drag you; it's your choice," the man told me, and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he meant exactly that.

"Fine," I spat, unwilling to let him have every inch of power. He may get what he wanted, and he may be able to pull me around like a rag-doll—but I wouldn't go down without some semblance of a fight, and the moment I knew how to best him I would.

He didn't look angry, merely amused at my fire, and as he turned toward the door he motioned for me to follow. He was either very confident or very stupid turning his back to me, and I didn't know where all this violence was coming from; it welled up inside me without warning. I absolutely _hated _him. My intuition screamed at me to attack, and before I had processed the possibility I'd already lunged.

The man spun quick as a cat, and half a second later I was pinned to the wall to the right of the door, all the breath expelled from my lungs while his fingers dug into my arms and his face neared mine.

"Foolish," he growled, no longer looking entertained. He held me for another moment, his fingers tightened slightly before he took a step back and my mind spun at this speed, at these reflexes that had to be impossible. The thought flitted through my head, and the desperation I dismissed the notion with caused my legs to tremble—but it was there, taunting me; these were not the abilities of humans.

My mind would not quiet, there was a barrage of smells and tickles over my skin that were threatening to drive me mad already; with this new possibility the dam was threatening to break. I hardly noticed when he grabbed hold of my forearm and pulled me behind him out of the structure, and away from what I recognized as a blazing campfire and various other buildings scattered about, people seeming to loiter in every corner.

It happened in a small, wooden shed with a dirt floor.

I barely saw the man, though I could recall every single detail about him after I was done. He'd been of medium height and build with thin and wispy brown hair. His eyes had been green, and I didn't think I'd ever be able to forget the astonished horror that shone in them as I instinctively pounced on his restrained form. His skin parted under my teeth, easier than the other man's had, and all I could think was that this red tasted oh, so sweet. My fingers sank into his flesh as I tore and rent him apart, this unremarkable man who's only relevance to me was that he would forever represent just how reprehensible I'd become.

"Feel better?" the dark-haired man asked as the last remnants of blood slid down my throat, and I was running away from this terrible thing before I'd even had the thought that it couldn't have happened; I only made it four steps out the door.

"Oh, no you don't," came a growl from behind me, and before I knew what was happening I was face down in the dirt with a strong hand gripping the back of my neck. He pulled me to my feet roughly, and my stomach lurched when he spun me about to face him. "Lesson number one is that you can't get away from me."

"This isn't real!" The words came out in screams that thundered past my lips, and echoed through the dawn, punctuated with the rhythm of my fists pounding against his chest. "It's a nightmare! I'm stuck in this nightmare! Why won't you just let me wake up?"

"This is very real."

"It can't be..." I could feel phantom tears welling in my eyes, but they wouldn't fall, and the inability to perform the action sent frustration roiling through me. I hit him once more with a closed fist, but it was half-hearted in the rising tide of all this anger, hurt, and disbelief.

I'd never wanted to cause violence, had always considered myself a peaceable person, but at that moment I wanted to find the largest thing in the vicinity and tear it down with my bare hands. I wanted to feel dirt and grit gather under my fingernails, experience the strain of my muscles as I destroyed something larger than myself. Something was so very wrong with me...

The man stared at me for a moment, he seemed to be considering something of great importance, and I felt myself flutter to the edge of my pride; I would give anything, absolutely anything for him to tell me this was simply some sort of sick dream that I would wake from in the morning.

"This is...you need to accept that this is the reality of your existence now." His words were firm, brutal, and they tore every last remaining hope within me to shreds and scattered them over the dirt under my feet. "I know it's hard to adjust, but you're going to have to if you want to survive."

My knees shook beneath me, and after another thick swallowing back of this sudden rage I collapsed to the ground, quivering with the strain of repressing the violent longing streaming through my limbs. I wanted to go _home_; to bathe in familiarity and comfort instead of feeling the waves of insanity and uncertainty lapping at the skin of my ankles as the tide came rushing in to take me away. It was crazy, but I found myself disappointed for staining my dress with blood and dirt.

"I want to go home. My Father, he needs me...please. Please just let me go home." I sobbed the words out, and wrenched my eyes shut as tight as I could; I knew it was true. My Father was sitting in our house, his brow crinkled with worry as all the terrible possibilities raced through his head, and I needed to go to him; without me he was all alone.

"That's not an option," the man in front of me replied, somewhat less stonily, though I wouldn't realize the softening of his tone until later.

"I promise I won't tell! I promise! I won't say a word, just let me _go!_" This was all too much, and I felt beaten and broken as I sank so low as to beg a man I despised for something I already knew to be impossible. "_Please._"

He gave me no response, which was answer enough. He just stared down at me for the ten minutes it took for me to regain my composure, and once I'd managed to quiet my sobs and take a few deep breaths he took a step to his right, in the direction we'd come from.

"Come along."

"Where am I?" I asked instead of accepting his instruction. I remembered him, it was becoming clearer and clearer the more time wore on; he was the one walking down the street after me, he'd been the one to cover my mouth and lift my legs from the ground and carry me off into the night. He deserved no respect after that despicable act.

"Monterrey."

"Mexico?" I gaped. How long had I been trapped in that nightmare for?

"Have you figured out what you are yet?" he asked casually, and my attempt to climb to my feet failed as the all too recent and vivid memory of squirting blood and mutilated flesh flashed through my mind again. It had been so hauntingly delicious.

"Vampire." The word was a whisper that screamed in its plea for denial—but the man nodded and my stomach clenched. He was right, this wasn't a nightmare; this was hell.

"You're quicker than most," he complimented half-heartedly.

"Why..." I began to ask, unable to determine just what horrible thing I'd done in my life to deserve something like this. I'd tried to live well, had always been mindful of others and attempted to do what was right. I'd always had faith in justice and good-deeds, and if this was where that had led me then God could be nothing less than colossally unfair and cruel.

"Because you were there," he shrugged after a brief pause, completely unaware of the way his words bruised the faith I'd always carried with me.

I didn't speak again as he led me back toward the campfire.

The compound looked the same as the brief flash residing in my memory, and the undeniable fact that I had taken in all these little details about this place in mere seconds of distraction was further proof of what I did not want to accept. The fire was still in the exact middle of three one-story concrete buildings, the earth was still worn and tamped, shuffled about as if the grains of sand could never find their proper place to rest. The larger building to the north matched the picture in my head exactly; taller than all the rest, the exterior cleaner, better cared for; it gave off the impression of importance.

The various other people that milled about this central area looked familiar, only their places had changed, and I counted fourteen men and six women. It was obvious which of them held more importance than others, the underlings were all dressed in near rags—pants torn off at the knees and too large shirts tucked or tied to suit the wearer's need. Even the women wore trousers, and as I looked down at my ruined dress I knew that it wouldn't be long before I joined them; this man had no intentions of letting me go.

I wasn't even so sure I wanted to leave now, what I had done...I shouldn't be around normal people.

There were no barracks that I could see, and I was surprised to find I didn't really care; there was no ache in my muscles or cloud in my head that demanded sleep. Boundless energy ran through me, as if I were perpetually stuck in those two hours at the beginning of the day when the sun has first risen. Night was falling quickly, and none of the other twenty people in what I assumed was the common area seemed to take notice of it, and I came to the daunting conclusion that we simply did not get tired.

My exhale was shaky, it came in three short bursts of air as my fingers quivered and my lips pressed together in an effort to keep myself from losing what little composure I had.

"Peter."

The snap of my head toward his was too fast, but seemed natural; however the softer and less hostile inflection of his tone was something I already knew to be unusual. This man was gruff, mean, dangerous—but the two syllables made their way to me over the too small space between us, and I could have sworn he was trying to be nice.

"My name is Peter."

"Charlotte," I breathed after a moment, and Peter nodded slightly before turning his back on me once again. He spoke to the falling moon as he informed me that I could do what I pleased, but in the morning I was to join him and the others for training, and then he left me to my thoughts under the dark and oppressive Mexico sky.

A cursory glance around the area told me all I needed to know; I had no allies here. I skirted through shadows as I made my way to the building opposite the one Peter had disappeared into, the one I'd began in, and I scraped my back along the rough concrete as I sank into the ground.

Everyone maintained their distance, and I kept my arms firmly wrapped around my bent and crossed legs as I watched them milling around, no purpose to their actions. Most sat near the fire talking, though from what I heard of their conversation they mostly seemed to just be holding meaningless conversations to pass the time. They'd start with one topic, fall silent for a long stretch, and then broach a new one—but one thing continued to come up through the night, always preceded by sharp and hostile glances my way.

_'Who is she?'_

_'She must be special; we're not supposed to be recruiting...'_

_'I can't believe Peter said he's coming in the morning...'_

The only one to approach me had been a short man named Daniel; he was only a few inches taller than myself, his frame stocky and his light brown hair moved with the breeze. He seemed slightly less threatening than the others, but the comparison meant little. Even if he were the least scary of the bunch he still terrified me.

"How much has Peter explained to you?" Daniel asked, lowering himself into a crouch three feet away from me.

"Not much," I whispered back. I'd have preferred to say nothing at all, to shut down and retreat inside myself to try and wait out this storm—but it wasn't ever going to end, and I knew that.

"Alright," Daniel nodded, "Then let's start at the beginning."

It was the worst two hours of storytelling I'd ever experienced. This tale of blood, war, and horror, it stuck to me like a film long after Daniel had finished talking, it was grime I couldn't wash away or put out of my mind no matter how hard I tried. I never would have imagined a reality like this could ever exist, it was just too awful, and now I had lost my life to it.

He told me Peter was his immediate superior, there was another above him, and still another at the top, though I was also told there was no reason for me to know who they were right now. At the moment the highest priority was to ready myself for battle, to become competent so I could be useful; those who couldn't adapt died. He'd said this was war, that there was no longer a me, only the unit; I no longer served myself, and that's just the way things were now.

There were rules, endless rules he conveyed to me, though only two stood out; you can't get away, and always kill those mated with each other. They were the highest of priorities, and the contrast of them intrigued me almost as much as the term he'd used.

"Mates?"

Daniel rolled his eyes, as if he found the entire concept to be absurd, and it wasn't long before I agreed with him. Who could love in a place like this?

The worst of all of it was when he told me of the second-in-command, the Major of this army. Vicious, he'd said. Feral and volatile, feared above all others, including his mistress, and once he started talking of the strange gift this man possessed I was left with no doubt in my mind that I'd already encountered him, back when I'd first opened my eyes to a grey ceiling and lost my mind in a haze of burgundy.

I hoped I never saw him again.

It wasn't until late in the morning that I achieved that blissful numb that comes with the complete and total loss of hope—not until I'd been led to a wide expanse of yellowing grass where all the others had already gathered, not until I was paired off and my body ached with phantom strains, and the breath of my new comrades had blown across my skin in terrifying gusts as their teeth snapped closed just millimeters away.

My moves, while wild and unsure at first, quickly became nothing more than echoes of the instructions and advice laid out for me. The truth was that I was good at this, before the end of my first day I could take down the weaker of my opponents, and I'd yet to allow the tattoo of a semi-circle to litter my skin—but once the distraction of fighting waned and I returned to my wall I looked down at my steadily deteriorating dress that had once been so beautiful, and I had never felt weak like this before.

It was a routine that I fell into quickly, and in between throwing a punch for the first time in my life and coming to understand how to harness the heated anger that ran through my veins for combat, I listened to the whispers of my comrades. They were curious and speculative, and always wondering just what my place was here; it was an answer I wanted for myself.

I want to know why, why I was there in that alley I'd never walked down before, and why he'd been there, ready to haul me off into the night. It had been a perfectly choreographed waltz we'd danced, like it had been fated to happen that way, like this was where I was meant to end up—but I couldn't believe that, I couldn't believe God was that cruel.

Still every night I pressed my back into the concrete wall that had been claimed as my own little slice of hell. I was left alone for the most part, but at least once a night the hairs on the back of my neck would stand on end, and I'd thoughtlessly glance up to see Peter staring back at me from the doorway of the building I'd woken up in. His eyes glowed in the dim light of the campfire and the moon hanging overhead, and I could feel them, his eyes on me, boring into my skull as I sat silently. I drew my knees up to my chest; everything felt so cold here, even though the remnant heat of the sun still radiated up from the dirt.

In some strange way the weight of his gaze was comforting, as though everything else in the world could wither and burn, but he'd still have his eyes fixed on my face. He watched me, and I couldn't help but wonder if that also meant he watched out for me. Sometimes in those moments it didn't matter that I couldn't stand him, couldn't muster up anything but loathing for this man who'd ruined my life and taken me away from my Father, and it was just the inkling of something other, but it was there, and it was hard to ignore.

I shouldn't feel anything for him, not even the hatred I couldn't quite get a handle on; he was a horrible, vile man, this I knew for certain, and he didn't deserve this much of my attention. It was just that he was always there, every single day, always picking me for his team in our practices, and always pitting me against opponent after opponent. He stared and stared, watched me take to this new life shoved in my face and learn that whatever change had occurred within me had instilled an inherent desire to hurt those all around me. He watched as I adapted to the blows, discovered ways to keep the fists from raining down on me—and while I expected nothing from him, it was hard to let go of the idea that if violence ever fell upon me I could trust in the good of men to save me.

This place, it was backwards and upside-down. It spun on its side so fast I never managed to get my footing, and as the burning in my throat increased, a silent warning that soon I would have to do that horrible thing I tried not to think about, the spinning quickened and the constricting boundaries of the camp closed in.

I wanted to believe I'd been raised better than this that my Father, despite all the struggles, had done the best he could, and it had been enough. He would be so ashamed to see me now, curled up in the dirt, hiding from everything that frightened me, wearing this ruined dress. It would break his heart to know I was a murderer, and that, more than anything else, kept me put. I couldn't go back to him now; I couldn't look him in the eye and confess all that I'd done in the short time we'd been apart.

I had nowhere else to go, so I stayed under the gaze of Peter's watchful eye.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ****Beta'd by SweeneyAnne, and pre-read by THEChickNorris & GemmaLisaX.**

**Don't own Twilight.**

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><p>"Yeah, it's over<br>You can bet when mid-October ends  
>I'll still be ranting 'bout most early May<br>He's a winner, he's a goddamn sinner  
>While he dines I'm on the wrong side of the day<br>And I said, 'I don't understand why I'm fumbling after'  
>Yeah, you're the reason I cannot forget this season<br>Or the lesson how an ape shall not kill ape"

-Ape Dos Mil, Glassjaw

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><p><strong>May, 1880<strong>

The oddest part of this life was how normal it began to feel after just a few short weeks. There was structure here, a rigid agenda that was kept to at all times that made the time seem to slip away. Even the manner in which we all clad ourselves in remnant cast offs gave a certain feel of conformity, and though I loathed the men's pants torn off at my calves and the too large shirt I was unceremoniously gifted in my second week, I found that I was glad I didn't have to feel so awful about ruining them. Blood spatters, rips, and tears, they meant nothing to me when they stained such unremarkable clothes.

We trained every day, from sun up to mid-afternoon. We were always broken into two groups, Peter led one and Daniel took the other, and more often than not I found myself with Peter. He took me as a partner when we sparred in pairs as well, and though he was vicious and cruel at least he seemed to have some amount of restraint, because while the others were often nursing bites and torn limbs I never suffered the same.

There was something so odd in the way Peter's presence affected me, I didn't even need to see him, I always knew if he was near, and the moment that strange feeling boiled up inside of me it was like taking a breath of fresh air after being subjected to nothing but smoke for days on end. He made me feel calm, even in the midst of violence, and when he was around the pressure on my chest and the ache in my heart lessened. I didn't know what it meant, had no idea why I would have such a reaction to someone I couldn't abide; if I hadn't known any better I would have sworn something in me actually liked him, and that just wasn't possible.

Still there was something, some faint and wispy curl floating in the air just out of reach, and I knew I wasn't seeing the whole picture. The word thundered through my head; _something_. Just one piece of the puzzle lost to me that would explain everything he had done and continued to do. There was a reason he'd assaulted me in that alley, and there was reason for the way he behaved, for the way he watched me.

_Something_.

The older soldiers were taken out to feed in the evenings, soon after the sun began to sink; Peter and Daniel fetched prey for the youngest of us. Men, my meals were always elderly men, bound and wide-eyed with terror on the floor of the killing shed, just waiting for me to come to slaughter them. It was the one nice thing anyone did for me, this careful selection Peter seemed to make for my meals. Not four days passed where I didn't hear the sobs and cries of one of the others in sympathy for their victims, and I took it as a blessing; at least mine were old and had lived their lives, at least I hadn't taken a child's Mother from them.

The only variation in our routine came during the night, without warning, when Peter's comrade would go to his mysterious mistress that none of us had ever laid eyes on, and his gift ran rampant. I hated these sporadic trysts of his. The lust pulsed all around the camp, and I wound my arms around my legs a little tighter, hoping that if I could make myself as small as possible I'd somehow escape the notice of all these men slinking around with deranged looks in their eyes.

This was always the scariest part. The fighting, the killing, even Peter I could handle—but on nights like tonight where the blond man fogged the atmosphere of the base with his desire were the ones that made me want to give up and let the darkness swallow me.

A deep scream sounded out in front of me, and I lifted my head to see one of the larger men writhing in the campfire, Peter standing over him with his head cocked to the left curiously, as though he were merely observing an oddity of nature. He remained there for a moment, just staring at the man flailing his arms as he burned alive as others came forward, seeming to wait for some indication that they could help. Peter nodded slightly, watching as the man was allowed to escape the flames with a curious expression on his face, like he too was wondering just why he'd committed such an act. He turned quickly, his eyes flashing over me before he kicked his foot through the dirt and continuing on his previous path. He walked right in front of me, and I wanted so badly to reach out and curl further in on myself.

Being in his presence pulled me in such opposite directions, I had no idea what to make of any of it—truthfully I had no desire to figure it out anyway. All I wanted to know was how to get away from this awful place, because this was a place where the closest thing I had to an ally had just thrown someone into a fire to be burned alive for no reason at all, and I could never be sure that I wouldn't be next.

I ordered myself to recoil, to flex the muscles in my arms and pull my legs tighter to my chest as Peter continued on his path toward the building he seemed to claim as his own; the only other person I'd ever seen go in there was the blond man who sent chills running down my spine. It was the smart thing to do, no good could come of any other reaction to Peter, and I had to make sure I kept that in mind.

The heady smell of burnt meat in the air and the sight of the burly man gritting his teeth in pain as he lay on the dirt was enough to cement my resolve.

These little fireflies that danced in my vision and in the pit of my stomach meant nothing. I wouldn't allow them to.

The weight pressed down on my chest again, the slight depression I'd sunk into began to surround me from all sides, and I was lost to my thoughts for another few hours before a commotion broke out to my right, on the other side of the campfire.

I immediately recognized the man as one of the more vicious, even though he always worked with Daniel. He taunted and teased one of the younger girls, though she was older than me; they were all older than me. He pulled at her hair and her shirt, and the whole production brought to the surface memories of childhood, when boys had done this very same thing because they wanted attention, only this was more aggressive. Two others stood by and laughed, and when a particularly sharp jostle sent the girl tumbling down toward the earth I thought that maybe I was going to have to try and do something about it. The odds were not good, but I hadn't been raised to stand idly by while another needed assistance, even if they did hate me.

The rise of my body came in time with the slam of a door in the direction I knew Peter to be, and a moment later he stalked through wide area, the blond following suit a moment later, strolling for the door of the towering building situated at the north end of our camp. Peter met my eyes for half a second before turning to the blond. "I'm gonna take a couple of 'em to hunt."

The other man said nothing, but then again, he never did.

I'd never been permitted this privilege before, so I was surprised when Peter selected the two men watching the third torment the girl I'd thought maybe I should try and protect, and then turned to me and said, "You too, let's go."

It was times like this that made me think that maybe Peter was different. He was certainly different from the blond man who prowled around the camp, suffocating us all in fear and hatred—but the hard and calculating look in his eyes as he waited for the two he'd indicated to make their way to him was all the reminder I needed that even though he may seem different, he was still monstrous.

Peter took the three of us to the outskirts of a small town residing east of our camp, and signaled for us to stop.

"You're up first," he nodded in my direction, and there was only one thought in my mind as he let me walk away from him toward the mouthwatering thudding of human heartbeats.

My pace was agonizingly slow, I could barely even force myself to place one foot in front of the other as I walked in the direction Peter had pointed me in, but that raging thirst prevented me from stilling my steps, kept me from turning back and refusing to feed like I wanted to. All it took was one thought of the sticky red mess running down my throat in soothing waves to urge my feet forward again and again, and no matter how much I wanted to resist, no matter how much I wanted to turn and run as fast as my legs would carry me, I couldn't.

I'd heard the heartbeat, the only things to do now were to stalk and scent the air; to find the red that flowed through easily pierced veins and pray that whoever it was that I killed wouldn't have a family missing them at home.

I could run away, it would be so easy—but where would I go? Outside of this small camp I had found myself a part of there was probably another just like it, and another, and another until the ends of the earth. I could run, but I was something unnatural, something born out of evil. I was a murderer and I had no place in the real word, I was part of the underbelly now, and so after I mutilated and destroyed a lone man walking down a worn path between trees I returned to my commander, full of shame for my weakness. I used to be better than this.

The scene I was met with was a blast of terror; Peter was knelt over a roaring fire; smoke thick and the all too familiar smell of some strange mix of sweetness and burnt meat. He was holding a leg, and without a single glance in my direction he tossed it into the flames and rose to his full height, finally turning on me.

He darted to my side and clamped his hand over my mouth before I'd even had a chance to scream.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered in my ear, the feel of his breath blowing over my cheek sent shivers of terror down my spine. He was lying, this man had done nothing but lie to me, and he surely wouldn't stop now. "I had to kill them; it was the only way to get you alone, the only way we could talk without being overheard. Nobody can know...

"I swear not to hurt you."

I nodded even though I didn't believe him, and he removed his hand from over my mouth. It was foolish, trying to run away, but I had to attempt it; I made it only two yards.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you!" Peter growled as he tackled me to the ground, and I screwed my eyes shut and prayed for any sort of salvation from this savage and brutal man's hands.

"Please don't," I begged, unsure of which of the million possibilities I was the most afraid of, and his grip tightened on my shoulders and the world spun as he picked me up off the ground and set me on my feet.

"Would you fuckin' listen for two seconds?" he snapped, and I timidly pried open my eyes to see his face inches from mine. "I will not hurt you."

"Ok." The word was no more than a whisper on the wind, but it was enough to make Peter release me.

He took two long strides backward and clenched his fists at his sides as he set his jaw, and I couldn't figure out whether or not I believed him. He said he wouldn't cause me harm, but he looked like one wrong move would cause him to snap. I had to keep myself from taking a step away from him.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he finally said, extending his fingers and flexing them before running a hand through his hair.

I chose to stay quiet. Peter may claim he had no desire to hurt me, but the truth was that he'd killed our companions in cold blood, and I hadn't come anywhere near trusting him before.

"I..." Peter began, only to trail off, jerking his head to the right with a huff. He crossed his arms over his chest, and began again. "I'm fond of you."

"Excuse me?" I choked out, forgetting for the moment that this was Peter, and I despised him. He was clearly insane as well as violent and unstable.

"You have no idea what's going on, do you?" Peter scowled, glaring at me as though all this confusion was my fault, and his misplaced blame stirred the flames of my fire.

"All I know is that you stole me away and dragged me into hell," I stated bravely, raising my chin to look him in the eye.

"You'd rather I killed you?"

"Yes." There was no doubt in my mind. A thousand deaths would be preferable to the existence this man had subjected me to.

"Well, I prefer that you live," Peter retorted clenching his hands into fists again.

"Who are you to decide anything about my life?" My voice climbed higher as my confidence rose in Peter's assurance that he wouldn't kill me, but his volume rose right along with mine.

"We are mates." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Mates?" I scoffed, vindictively amused with the way his teeth gnashed at my immediate dismissal. "I'm sorry you've lost your chance to prey on the naïve of your little camp, but Daniel has already told me of mates. I have no love for you, and I am not foolish enough to believe that you have any for me."

Each and every interaction with this man was simply more confirmation that he was someone I should stay far away from if I was able. He was either crazy or dangerous, most likely both, and he seemed to have some sort of interest in me that I was sure would lead to nothing good. Yet he stepped closer and I felt calmer, and it was nothing short of infuriating.

"I never claimed to love you," Peter said after a moment, using that quieter voice of his that made him sound a little kind, and made me feel a little fuzzy, "but I do like you, and I need you to...I just need you."

This time I couldn't quite contain the derisive laugh that bubbled up in my throat. "Do you honestly expect me to believe this—that somehow we're fated to be, and it's all my fault that we haven't run off into the sunset to live happily ever after?"

"I couldn't say anything sooner, couldn't treat you any different from the rest." Peter continued his explanation harshly, with a sharp look. "When Jasper finds mates he kills them. I have risked _everything _to keep you alive."

"Is Jasper the blond man?" I asked, forgetting my anger and indignation for a moment in favor of satisfying my curiosity. I hated how easily distracted I was, and somewhere in the back of my head I promised myself that I'd let my fury over his accusations free in the very near future.

"Yes."

"He'll kill us?" I swallowed and tried to take a breath to calm myself. It seemed that while I was able to think of many things all at once, there was always one thing at the forefront, and I generally had no control over what that thing was—and right now I was consumed with dread.

Peter nodded hesitantly in confirmation, and we stood in silence for a few minutes before he turned suddenly and took a seat on the ground. "I'd like to be able to be nicer to you, but it's not an option. Jasper can't know what's happened, and if I feel anything other than indifference toward you, perhaps I could get away with some lust, then he's gonna figure it out. He's smart, and he's fuckin' lethal."

"He's evil..." I whispered to myself.

"He's not all bad," Peter insisted, and I just couldn't understand how in the world he could defend the horror of that demon.

"He's awful," I argued, shaking my head as I sat a couple of feet away from him.

"Right now, yes," Peter conceded, "but I've started to wonder if maybe there's hope for him. He's...it's like he's in hibernation. There's a person buried in there somewhere, and there are days where I think maybe I can catch a glimpse of him beyond the withered and dead exterior.

"I don't think he's completely evil...or maybe it's just that someday he could be more," Peter concluded, and I wondered if even he knew exactly what it was he was trying to say, or if he'd even meant to say so much at all. It seemed like he was just desperate for someone, anyone to talk to, and I just happened to be the one who was here.

"So you think that maybe he could...reform?" I asked, and Peter nodded his head slightly as he stared straight ahead.

"Maybe. I think that if he found something to live for he would. What he's doing right now, it's not living. He just blindly follows orders, he doesn't know anything else...he could be better."

"I think that is completely ridiculous," I said all in one exhale, and Peter turned his head to give me a sharp look.

"You know nothing of Jasper, and you know very little of me. Do not think that because I've formed an attachment to you, I'll take your opinion above all others."

We fell silent in our disagreement, and I found myself baffled at how we'd managed to have a meaningful conversation, almost debate in the midst of all this murderous smoke in the air. It was a strange turn of events, to be presented with the offer of an ally in one of the last places I would have expected it—but somehow I wasn't all that surprised, and I was determined not to consider what that might mean.

I didn't care about this sensation that flowed through me whenever Peter was less than hostile to me, and I wouldn't give any credence to the way his presence soothed me. The only way I could think of to distract myself was to keep asking questions, and so I brought up the first one that came to mind, "Why those two? Why did you pick them to be the ones you killed?"

"I couldn't take Gregory," Peter scowled, and after a glance at my confused face he elaborated, "The one who was picking on Helen."

I had never bothered learning anyone's name, and subconsciously I tallied it up in Peter's meager column of positives.

"He hunted a couple of days ago, but those other two? They were up soon, and they stood by and did nothing. I don't believe in treating women that way, and they won't be missed."

I figured that must deserve another two points, but he lost some as well, because he hadn't done anything better to me.

"Does that happen a lot?" I asked, worried for myself, and to my relief Peter shook his head.

"Only every few months or so, it's actually something Jasper and I came to an understanding on long ago, that I wouldn't permit the women to be abused. This batch you're in hasn't learned their lesson yet, but they will."

"That's surprisingly noble of you," I admitted, pushing aside the small part of me that wondered at his wording, and again, Peter looked a little offended.

"Do you think so little of me?"

"Do I have a reason not to?" I shot back, and Peter fell silent for a few minutes.

"In another world I'd want to give this thing a shot," he admitted, changing the topic of conversation, and as I pondered the implication of his statement I looked over the smoldering ashes of his victims, and I shook my head. It wasn't his place to judge who deserved to die, and no matter his reasons the fact remained that he'd committed murder just to speak with me plainly.

"You are not someone I should be involved with. I could never..."

"You don't even know me," Peter snapped, sounding offended—but it wasn't nearly enough to quell my uncertainties. I'd learned enough about him to know that he was probably not a good man.

"I know that you murdered two men today for no good reason, and not so long ago you set another on fire. If you have some sort of good deed in your pocket that somehow cancels that out, well then, why don't you start talking?" I asked, matching his tone, and Peter's head swiveled around to meet my eyes with his own.

"Who do you think has been protecting you?" he sneered condescendingly. "If you were anyone else you would have been beaten to within an inch of your life on a daily basis, you wouldn't have been allowed to learn how to defend yourself the easy way, and believe me, you had the easiest time of all of us when it comes to that, and that doesn't even take into account what I keep from happening to you and every other woman under my charge when Jasper has his fun with Maria."

I wasn't sure why I was focusing on these smaller parts of the whole, but again, I asked for clarification. "Maria is..."

"Our commander," Peter said with a roll of his eyes and a huff. "She's only in charge because Jasper lets her be; that leash he wears, she may have put it there, but he soldered the lock shut himself."

And we were right back at Jasper, and how he was somehow not as evil as he appeared.

"How did the two of you become friends?" I finally asked, wondering if Jasper had sunk Peter down to his level or if Peter had always been among the dregs of decency as I drew little circles and loops in the dirt next to my thigh.

"We are _not_ friends," Peter snarled, and the intensity of his denial made me think that maybe there was more to it—but I let it go, nothing good could come of upsetting him.

And this...this conversation we were almost having felt normal, as if we were meant to bicker and snap at each other half-heartedly with all we had, just like we were doing now, and when I finally recognized that, I was forced to give him an inch; just one inch.

"Did you mean it? That you care about me?"

"You're going to wind up costing me my station," Peter answered bitterly, and I ceased drawing shapes in the dirt and glared at him.

"You've already cost me much more than that."

"Yes," he said after a moment of deliberation. "I meant it."

It was confusing, how his confirmation almost made me happy, but the way his thought process worked made my head spin a little. He constantly changed the subject, and never answered questions directly, at least not right away—it reminded me of a thousand queries spinning about all around me, and randomly plucking one to answer out of the air.

"We don't have much time left," Peter sighed after a moment, and for just a second I swore I could see a worn and tired man struggling to support the whole world on his shoulders—but it was just a moment. "This changes nothing. I can't treat you better than the others, but I'll do what I can."

This time I almost believed him, this time I _wanted_ to believe him.

"It'll go over better if you look scared when we get back," Peter said casually as I rose to my feet and made to follow him back to camp. I nearly snorted at the absurdity of his request; I would have absolutely no problem appearing to be afraid. Fear was something I'd learned to wrap around me like a blanket, something I now used to fortify and protect myself from the horrors of the world I lived in. As long as I was still afraid, it meant I was not lost.

Peter began to walk, and glanced over at me with an indecipherable expression on his face, and his next words were quiet, thoughtful. "I didn't know, not at first. I didn't know why you meant something to me when no one has before. Someday...someday you'll believe me when I say that I don't want to see any harm come to you."

They were words I thought about constantly over the course of the next few days, along with everything else that had occurred and been spoken of during my first time away from camp. The intensity of it circumvented everything else, and I barely even thought about the man that I'd killed, though I should have; my mind was focused solely on Peter.

What gave me the most pause was that I was starting to realize that it wasn't exactly unusual for him to cloud my thoughts and eclipse the light of everything else that resided in my sky. There were quiet nods and meaningful glances, heads turned in the other's direction and an indescribable fuzz that spread over me every single time.

I had no idea what explanation Peter gave for killing two of the soldiers, and that was probably for the best. I didn't want to hear what passed for reasonable cause in this place. I didn't even bother speculating, for all I knew he hadn't even needed to say anything. Instead I sat against my wall every day, watching the others a little more carefully, and trying to figure out just where the line was.

Peter had claimed he didn't tolerate the women being abused, and surprisingly there seemed to be very little of it. When Peter wasn't around Daniel was, and he did a good job of keeping men like Gregory in line, mostly. After two days I decided that what happened had been an anomaly, like Peter claimed, Gregory was clearly someone to be avoided, but he seemed to be the only one to get any enjoyment from taunting and picking fights with their comrades. It was so very strange to believe that he had told me the truth about something, and I refused to dwell on it.

The sun began to make its way into the sky, and with it I stood to make my way a bit west of camp, to the place we sparred and trained. I arrived before all the others, I usually did. The less time I spent pressed against my wall the better, and at least I could pretend that I was doing something well, I was punctual, if nothing else. Only today when I arrived there wasn't just Peter and Daniel waiting for me, Jasper was there also. His eyes darted my way and I averted mine instantly, vowing to never again show up so early. It was awkward enough with Peter there, but usually Daniel would pretend to make conversation with me while we waited for the sun to escape the morning horizon.

I had never heard such silence in my life, had never seen a man look as angry and tense as Peter did as he clenched his fists and rocked back on his heels ever so slightly, like he was itching to run as hard and fast as he could, and I had never seen eyes that looked as dead as Jasper's.

Slowly the others trickled in, and when the last had arrived, mere seconds before we were meant to begin, Peter drawled unenthusiastically, "Our Major has graced us with his presence today. We'll break into groups; I'll take the ones on the right."

I was not at all surprised that I was with Peter. It seemed I always was, and under normal circumstances I hated it—but Peter was certainly the lesser of two evils today. I knew I shouldn't have done it, that it would open doors I was sure should stay closed and expose maybes that needed to stay hidden—but the corners of my mouth curled upwards on their own accord when I walked by, and I thought that maybe all the trouble the gesture would bring me was worth the almost smile resulting from the quirk of his lips that he offered me in return.

It was such a rare showing for him, if I ever went any significant amount of time without seeing Peter I'd always come to the conclusion that he was simply dead inside. He never allowed any emotion to cross his face, he never gave away anything that ran through his head on the outside—but sometimes...sometimes I could see it was merely that he had a thick shell that he allowed no one to breech. This simple smile he'd given me, it was all the proof I needed that Peter did feel, and deeply—he just never let anyone see it.

I found that I wouldn't mind learning that I was wrong about him.

Our session proceeded as it usually did, and like always Peter paired me with the strongest of our team—but I also noticed that the burly man he'd tossed into the campfire always wound up with Daniel, and I wondered at the dichotomy of what Peter deemed was some measure of protection. It wasn't quite so bothersome anymore, to spar with someone a little stronger or faster than me; I had taken to violence quickly, and I could hold my own.

I should have found it odd, the barely perceptible whisper Peter sent in Gregory's direction as he sent him over to Daniel—but I thought nothing of it until twenty minutes later, when everybody stilled as the cruel newborn took a cheap shot at Jasper when his back was turned. The pulse of terror that followed was near instantaneous as it zipped through the air with such ferocity that every hair on my body rose, and it was with a sort of disgusted fascination that we all watched the blond descend on the one who had acted so foolishly. The emotions flying through the air were quick and pointed.

_Hate, pain, fear, desolation..._

It all wound around my neck in a tightening noose, and it was no wonder that Jasper's victim didn't fight back; I couldn't even move a finger with all these constricting emotions flowing over me. He was savage, brutal, and when he finished with the one he turned on the two standing closest to him and ripped each of their limbs off before kicking them off to the side, paying no mind to the screams of agony that tore from their mouths.

He pivoted in place slowly, glared into each of our eyes as he blanketed us in acknowledgment, and we all nodded our understanding tentatively. This was not a man to defy, no matter the order.

He directed something at Peter after nodding at his three victims, causing Peter to scowl and clench his fists. "We should just burn them, at least the one. He's been nothin' but trouble."

Another silent communication ran between them, and the frown on Peter's face deepened as he nodded his head sharply and bit out, "Fine."

There was just something off about the entire incident, there had been no caution in Gregory's assault, and I had never seen Peter speak two words to anyone that weren't wrapped up in a growl. Peter was clearly irritated with the order to reconstruct those who'd been broken apart, and though I wouldn't have been particularly sad to see them go I still couldn't fathom what sort of terrible man would be upset that he didn't get to murder someone today; I wondered if that was what he'd been hoping for, to be gifted the opportunity to kill the problematic man. He stalked over to the scattered remains, stared down at them for a moment, and turned back. "This is a mistake."

It was all he said on the matter before doling out the task to some of the nearby vampires and stalking a few yards away to observe the proceedings, catching Daniel's eye and jerking his head in my group's direction along the way. I could have sworn he orchestrated the entire incident, and I found that it didn't seem completely unreasonable. If Peter really did want to keep me safe, then maybe he'd also decided that the easiest way to do that was to just kill everyone else.

Jasper, surprisingly, made no indication of hearing Peter's dissent, and I wondered at just what had occurred between these two to make Peter so loyal, and Jasper so lenient.

Everything began again as if nothing had happened to disrupt it, as if the other team of vampires assaulting each other had never been three less than my own. No one dared question anything right now.

My mind floated away from the task in front of me, and my thoughts focused on Jasper. Peter was wrong about him, so wrong; Jasper was the very embodiment of evil.

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><p><strong>AN: Chapter 3 on Saturday, 4/9**


	3. Chapter 3

****A/N: ********Beta'd by SweeneyAnne, and pre-read by THEChickNorris & GemmaLisaX.** **

**Don't own Twilight. **

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><p>"Lay your head down, child, I won't let the boogie-man come<br>Count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums  
>Pay no mind to the rabble, pay no mind to the rabble<br>Head down, go to sleep to the rhythm of the war drums."  
>-Pet, A Perfect Circle<p>

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><p><strong>June, 1880<strong>

It seemed that whispers would no longer suffice in satiating the curiosity of the others roaming the camp. Speculation had lost its appeal, and a growing jealously and resentment was beginning to stir.

_You think you're so special, don'tcha?_

I simply could not understand the never ending animosity that seemed to be aimed in my direction. It was something I'd been dealing with for nearly two months now; none of the others wanted to talk to me, wanted to have anything to do with me. They considered me abnormal, and a few had even speculated that I must have some sort of value to someone important if Peter had found me by chance and decided to change me.

I had never been particularly concerned with whether or not I was liked by my peers, but then again, I'd never been subjected to disdain before. Now that I found myself alienated and disapproved of I wanted to know why, though, I was sure I already knew the reason; it just wasn't good enough for me. It was such a stupid reason to not like someone, the simple fact that they were different.

It didn't help that Peter apparently acted very oddly when it came to me. I'd learned through my eavesdropping that he'd never shown up for training so often in the past, he normally relegated the task to Daniel, and he'd _never_ sparred with any of the others. He hadn't instructed them, hadn't ever lifted one single finger to help them learn, and though I usually found his methods harsh I knew that if it weren't for him I wouldn't be able to defend myself half as well as I could.

It sent unfamiliar shivers down my spine each time his teeth came within inches of my neck and he'd breathe words of advice oh so quietly across my skin.

_'You're too short to reach that high.'_

_'Don't look in the direction you're gonna go, it's a giveaway.'_

_'What, you think I'm breakable or something? Stop going easy.'_

So maybe there was something to be said for Peter's unusual methods, maybe there had been a grain of truth hidden somewhere in the middle of the angry monologue he'd all but shouted at me when I accused him of being wretched. Maybe I just wasn't seeing the whole picture, because I could imagine him coming to the conclusion that the best way to protect me was to ensure I could take care of myself. He couldn't be quite as bad as the speculation painted him to be, or as awful as part of me wanted to believe he was, although it was probably a close call.

He was the only one who ever talked to me, really talked to me in that way where I knew if I actually had something to say back he'd listen. Every time I recognized it my chest ached just a little bit, because Peter's whispered instructions and sly nods could hardly constitute anything worthwhile. I was only disappointed with the meaninglessness of Peter's efforts because I used to have friends.

I was all alone, all day, every day, until that vile man named Gregory strutted my way and spat the hurtful words in my face.

Special...is that what they thought?

Gregory towered over me, and while there was a large part of me that was absolutely terrified of him and what he might do to me, it was something I'd begun to learn to use as a channel. My fear gave me strength. He was larger than me, more experienced, but during my time with Peter in training I'd become quite an adept fighter, and when his hand shot forward to restrain me I sidestepped him easily.

I couldn't figure out just why I'd convinced myself that Peter and Jasper were the worst of this camp, especially now that this beastly man who'd caused that girl Helen so much trouble over the past few weeks was advancing on me with malice shining from his eyes.

He took a swipe, and it was almost laughable, how easily I dodged it. I'd never had to spar against this man, had never seen anything of his aptitude outside of his taunting of the other women, and now that I was facing off against him I was met with the realization that he just didn't have much. His fingers curled into claws, his eyes narrowed in rage over my continual evasion, and when he aimed a kick at my knee, I jumped in time to avoid it and punched him square in the face as hard as I was able. I would find time later to be sickened by how much I enjoyed the crunch of cartilage under my knuckles.

Gregory fell to his knees, and for half a second I was proud of myself for my well aimed punch, but his sharp descent revealed Jasper standing a few yards behind him, his head cocked to the side curiously as he gazed upon the scene I was making. Phantom nausea bubbled in my stomach; I knew, without a doubt, that the look on his face couldn't mean anything good. Jasper raised his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle and a moment later every piece of me relaxed by the slightest degree. This had to be how he called Peter.

Peter didn't even glance in my direction when he approached forty-seven agonizing seconds later; instead he came to a stop next to Jasper for a moment before nearing Gregory's prone form and hauling him to his feet. "I'm not the only one who thinks you're on thin ice now."

I was surprised by the underlying threat in Peter's words, and even more so by the intense disapproval that Jasper emitted. Gregory turned tail and scurried off in the direction of the curious bystanders standing all around, wisely choosing to heed Peter's warning.

I was about to thank the two men, no matter how much I didn't like either of them I wasn't ungrateful enough that I wouldn't give credit where it was due, and they had helped me today—but Jasper turned to walk toward Peter's room, and a moment later Peter followed; he never even gave any indication that he realized it was me that had been the subject of all this trouble.

It was maddening, and I returned to the relative safety of my wall to stew in the confusion that always enveloped me when it came to Peter. He'd said in a different world he'd want to explore this thing he thought was between us, but the moment we returned to the camp he'd begun to ignore me again, and it was something I couldn't quite wrap my mind around.

Now that he'd openly done something to prevent me from being hurt the others would talk twice as much, though I didn't actually care what they thought of me. No, what had me worried was that muted sense of curiosity that had shone from Jasper's eyes for just a second. I'd done well at staying off his radar so far—but now he knew...he knew I was here. He might even know my name, if he thought to ask Peter.

At once the whole camp was bathed in irritation and insistence, every now and then spikes of rage would stab the atmosphere, and it would have taken a fool to not realize that Peter and Jasper were arguing, though about what I couldn't say. Peter seemed to be responding non-verbally, I didn't hear any words of his sound through the thick air, not until Jasper's emotions became more insistent, angrier.

"This is a bad idea. We shouldn't assume they are all so disposable." I angled my head just a tiny bit to the left at Peter's words. I was convinced they were talking about me, and I worried about what that could mean.

_Curiosity. Passion. Rage. Betrayal. Curiosity._

Jasper sent them all out in short bursts, and Peter growled lowly in response.

"I'm just giving you my opinion, _Major_," Peter snarled, and half a second later Jasper came storming out of Peter's room, shock and anger heavy in his wake. His eyes swept the compound once before zeroing in on me and that one look of his sent shudders down my spine. It was positively intrusive, this stare of his, and fear ran cold through my veins long after Jasper turned away and headed toward the ominous building at the head of the camp.

I stayed frozen for an indeterminate amount of time, and it wasn't until I felt the telltale pulse of Jasper's passion cut through the air that I came back to my senses. I couldn't deal with this tonight, there was absolutely no way that I could tolerate the lust and be alert enough to ensure I stayed safe, and though I didn't want to admit it, I only had one place I could go. I tried to avoid it, made a valiant effort to stay curled against the wall with the hope that out of sight meant out of mind, but I couldn't stay out here for once second longer. I couldn't stand the looks sent my way by the others, or this gnawing terror in my gut that screamed at me to just _run_. I couldn't run, none of us could, and once my body began to tremble I took a deep breath to stop the shaking, stood, and walked as quickly as I could to the one place I may be able to find solace.

I was sure this was a mistake, even as I knocked softly.

"Come in, Charlotte," Peter's deep voice answered instantly, and I pushed the door open to find Peter sitting with his back against the wall across from me. I idly noticed that his position was just a few inches from where I'd had that horrible nightmare and awoken to this life.

"How did you know it was me?" I asked from the doorway, still unsure being in here was any better than being out there.

"I always know where you are."

"Oh." I absolutely refused to tell him I always knew where he was, too.

I twiddled my fingers and bit my lip; I had no idea what I was doing here, but just standing between the wood panels of the door frame was making me feel better, and I was starting to learn to like that calming feeling Peter's presence caused to rise up within me.

"Relax," Peter chided, "I'm not going to bite you _again_."

My jaw dropped open embarrassingly as I struggled to find a response. I was fairly certain Peter had just told a joke; it was unprecedented, I'd assumed he possessed no sense of humor at all.

"Just sit down, you standing there is making me feel awkward," Peter groaned after another minute, and I hesitantly took a seat next to him, shoulder to shoulder against the grey wall. I immediately felt a little less on edge; there was something in his presence that I found oddly soothing, even though I was trying very hard to ignore it.

"I'm glad you came here tonight," Peter said, a slight strain to his usually indifferent tone.

"Why? So you can attempt what all those other men would if I were out there?" I asked bitterly, knowing it was a horrible thing to accuse him of, not to mention a completely unreasonable assumption. It was a cheap shot that would either bounce right off or hit its mark far harder than I'd intended—but I was still so very irritated with myself for seeking refuge at his side. I never would have if not for the events of the past few days; there'd been far too many stabs at my armor today. Peter offered a measure of safety, and I was going to take it even though it wounded my pride.

"Nah," Peter shrugged. "I'm just glad you're not out there."

"Finally, something we can agree on," I said dryly, tapping the tips of my fingers over my crossed legs. We were in for a long night, and I might as well attempt to be pleasant.

"Why?" Peter asked quietly, cringing in time with me as another pulse of lust beat through the air.

"Because at the end of the day I trust you more than I trust any of them." Peter hung his head a little lower, and I felt bad for the way my harsh words had come out; I hadn't meant it quite like that. "As much as it pains me to admit it, I feel safe with you."

"You poor thing," he said, shaking his head sympathetically though his words had the bite of sarcasm.

"It is so strange to hear you be humorous," I muttered.

"What can I say? You seem to bring it out in me," Peter answered, shrugging his shoulder against mine.

I found that it was nice, sitting here in silence with Peter; his arm next to me heated my entire left side, and I'd almost forgotten everything but the cold. With him at my side it was easier to shield myself from the pulses Jasper sent roaring through the compound, and it was without thought that I shifted just a little bit closer and let my head rest on his shoulder.

I felt a little right, in that moment.

It was like slipping into a dream, being lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest, and I didn't realize his arm had draped itself over my shoulders until I felt the soft scratching of his fingernails over my knuckles as he trailed his fingers up and down mine. Every fourth or fifth pass he'd flex his fingers, as if trying out the different ways his hand felt against mine; I never knew something so simple could feel so incredible. I extended my neck to raise my head slightly, intrigued by the surreal experience of Peter being a little sweet.

I'd spent the past two months so terrified that I was completely numb to everything, and the time I spent sitting on the floor of Peter's room with him was the first time I thought that maybe there was something beyond the fog of nothing encompassing this reality. He made me feel warm, and I hadn't felt that way in so long. He may have not been the best of men, but maybe he wasn't as bad as I had assumed; if he was truly awful then he shouldn't be able to make me feel so...so.

Time passed as slow as a rocky shore being eroded away by the calm lapping of ocean waves. Peter's hand made another circuit over mine, his head dipped just as mine rose by the same degree, and my eyes slid open at the feel of his breath on my face to stare into the swirling red of his eyes nearly eclipsed by black.

My heart jumped in my chest, I was sure of it, and that silly word Peter had spat out in irritation floated to the forefront of my mind.

_Mate._

Peter exhaled again in a warm gust over my mouth, and for one endless second I thought he was going to kiss me. He brushed so close to my lips, but it was only a flash later that he pulled himself away so forcefully that I nearly lost my balance and crashed into the floor.

When my eyes found him again he was crouched in the opposite corner, his hands in his hair and head bowed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I'm sorry."

"It's...okay," I replied shakily. That moment, that inkling that he might cover my mouth with his had rattled my fragile composure, because I still wasn't entirely sure if I was disappointed or not.

"It's Jasper," he said, jerking his head side to side before glancing up at me. "I try not to let his gift get the best of me, but sometimes it sneaks up."

Now that he'd mentioned it I could feel the lush lust swirling through the air again, and I pressed my lips together as I shifted my stare to the right of Peter. I didn't know what part of what had transpired had come from me and what had been caused by Jasper, and I absolutely hated being so unsure about it. That full feeling in my chest and tingling over my skin, the safety and warmth...was any of it real?

I was more than a little upset when I realized that it probably wasn't. All those feelings, they were things I could imagine feeling for Peter, if things were different. If he hadn't murdered those two men, if he wasn't so indifferent toward me unless we had solitude on our side, then perhaps I could care for him like that—but all those things were merely a fantasy I'd built in my head that I hadn't really acknowledged was there until tonight.

Peter took another minute to calm himself, and then sank into a seat in the same corner. It seemed he was going to keep his distance, and in the back of my mind I thought that the gesture could almost be considered chivalrous. Maybe Peter wasn't all negatives, and I very much would have liked to see his good side, but I wasn't entirely sure he really had one. Maybe it was just that his good side was more grey than most.

"Do you ever wonder what your life might be like now, if you hadn't wound up here?" I asked once the silence had stretched to an uncomfortable length, and I hoped the question didn't come out as biting as it sounded in my head.

"Not really," Peter answered stiffly, and then, after another moment he asked, "Why? What do you envision your imaginary future to be?"

"I don't know," I admitted, casting my eyes downward. "I was supposed to find a husband, have children...it wouldn't have been long before the steps toward that would have begun."

"I was married once," Peter offered conversationally, and I gaped at him.

"What happened?"

"I died." Peter said the words with an unconcerned shrug, as if really were as simple as that.

"What happened to your wife?" I asked softly, trying not to sound too concerned; this had to be a hard subject for Peter to talk about, I couldn't even begin to fathom why he would have offered the information in the first place.

"I imagine she's remarried by now."

"You don't know?"

"No," Peter answered, and the corners of his mouth pressed together a little. It was the first time I'd ever seen him display anything even vaguely resembling hurt. "That's not my life anymore. What good would knowing do?"

I couldn't imagine it, not caring about my life before I'd been stolen away and dragged into this place, but I thought that maybe this was just how Peter dealt with that loss. It couldn't hurt if it didn't matter, and in a way his stance on the subject was a bit like poetry to me; it was death and rebirth all tangled together in blood and dirt.

"I think you might be right about that."

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><p><strong>AN: Chapter 4 early next week.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Beta'd by the lovely SweeneyAnne, and pre-read by the awesomeness that is THEChickNorris and GemmaLisax.**

**Don't own Twilight.**

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><p>"Do you wonder how I stay so complacent?<br>It's like waiting for the ocean to save you from the waves  
>When you're so far under, silent, never moving"<br>-For the Ocean, Finger Eleven

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><p><strong>July, 1880<strong>

The atmosphere of the camp was a near fever pitch; everyone was excited, except for me, and possibly Peter.

Today was the day. It was the day we'd march out into the wild unknown and conquer whatever band of vampires stood in our way. The older among us knew that success was met with reward; something that happened so rarely that it was a treat for them to learn we'd go into battle. The others seemed to be excited simply because everyone else was, though I'd heard some say that they wanted to stretch their legs and run, finally expel all the energy that ran through them and that was something I could easily identify with.

I'd been stagnant for so long, had spent so many hours sitting in the dirt against my wall. I'd only been allowed out of camp the once, with Peter; all of my other meals had been in the shed, with prey that had been brought to me. I wondered if the world outside still looked like I remembered, or if the desert and trees had changed and shifted despite the fact that I wasn't there to see it happen.

Mostly I prayed that we wouldn't be heading to Texas, that whatever coven had been deemed competition wouldn't reside anywhere near my former home in Laredo. I could deal with just about anything else, if I had to, and when we marched South, rather than North I let out a sigh of relief and resigned myself to doing whatever I had to in order to survive. It should have occurred to me sooner that death would have been the easy way out, and this was a prime opportunity. All I'd have to do is stand still and let the enemy take me, but something in my gut churned at the thought, and I cursed this raging survival instinct.

It had nothing to do with Peter, or at least that's what I told myself.

There weren't very many of us going on this mission, or at least it seemed that way to me. For some reason I thought that everyone would come along, but it was only me, one of that horrible man Gregory's friends, one other woman, and two men. We were accompanied by both Peter and Daniel, but Jasper was nowhere to be found. I supposed it made sense, for them to take only some of their soldiers into battle, if they lost then who would defend their territory—but in all the preparations I'd been forced through the motions of no one had ever told me what was normal for this kind of thing.

I was worried, I couldn't help it. Life was not something that was treasured in this existence, and even though I didn't think Peter would do anything to actually hurt me, I was also acutely aware that he was the person who had taught me this lesson—and if Peter didn't have any problems with killing a couple of vampires for no good reason, then Jasper probably wouldn't have one with sending an entire contingent out to die.

This felt like too few, and I worried that this was nothing more than an elaborate way to get rid of some of us.

The march seemed to take ages as we made light steps and flew through the air toward a destination only Peter and Daniel seemed to know. The gnawing in my stomach grew in ferocity as my nervousness kicked up a notch, and I thought that if I were any more afraid than I was right now I would probably begin to tremble uncontrollably. I hadn't really feared for my life during all those mornings out in the field near camp, not since the day Peter swore that eventually I'd see that he didn't want harm to befall me—but today, right now, in this exact moment and the one that would surely follow, I knew without a doubt that it was very possible my life would end.

It turned out that we still outnumbered the enemy—but just barely.

The coven we approached was small, three men and three women Peter approached them quietly after halting us a ways away, and his deep voice traveled over the space between us as he explained that to the coven that we had come for their territory, and they could fight if they wished, but it would do them little good. I couldn't quite explain the feeling pulsing through my chest as I watched him standing there next to six unfamiliar vampires, all alone and vulnerable. I needed to be a little closer, that way if something happened I could help; I couldn't _stand_ just standing here, waiting for them to strike.

I wasn't particularly surprised when the coven we were focused on refused to surrender, and Peter began taking slow and careful steps back just as Daniel began to nudge my comrades and I forward. This was going to come to blows, I was actually going to have to fight in this battle—and Peter was far, far _too close_, and when in the world had I stopped fearing him and started fearing _for_ him.

The oldest male, a man with worn and faded clothes, and hair that would have been about to turn silver if he'd lived any longer, lunged for Peter, and chaos broke out all around us, though I couldn't have said for sure what the others were doing. The moment I saw that man bend his knees I knew he was going to attack, and Peter was on his own, he needed help. I sprinted as fast as I could, the others hot on my tail.

The woman that had seemed to be married to the man attacking Peter was the one to meet me head on, and I originally intended to fling her to the side and simply keep going, but I realized just half a second before it would have been too late that I was supposed to be _fighting_ these people, not evading them, so I kept hold of her arm as I swung her through the air, changing my trajectory so that instead of flying off into the distance she crashed right into the ground.

I had so little time for her; I dug my nails into the flesh of her neck to break the skin, just like Peter had taught me, and pulled as hard as I was able. It was strange, to know the technique for ripping someone's head off their body without using teeth. Her head pulled apart from the rest of her with a sickening screech, and I glanced up to see Daniel starting a fire while he kept an eye on how everyone was doing. I threw the head in his direction, and turned back toward Peter before I even knew if it had landed as his feet like I'd intended.

Peter had begun his fight on the losing side, though he seemed to have gained the upper hand—but I positioned myself near him anyway, knowing that this raging desire I had to be able to help if he needed it would be something I'd have to think on later. This couldn't be normal; I didn't even like him all that much.

The second one to approach me was a man with curly blond hair, and a very distinct swagger to the way he walked—and I found myself irritated that out of all these other people fighting on my side I was the one who was going to have to take on two of the enemy, even though we outnumbered them. I decided it was Peter's fault as I ducked to avoid a blow that sent a whoosh of air over my head; if that fool hadn't had to confront their coven leader all by himself I wouldn't have been so worried about him, and I wouldn't have charged in before everyone else.

The man trying to get a hold of me was clearly stronger than I was, but I was much faster, and the few blows he managed to land on me were glancing. I saw an opening to get one of his legs, but as I took it he twisted, and instead I found myself with my face in the dirt, my arms bent behind my back.

A ferocious growl tore through the air, and before I even had the chance to fear what it could mean I was free. I rolled to my back to see Peter had finally dispatched the vampire he'd been fighting; the pieces of him were strewn about a few yards to my left, and now appeared to be using the one who'd bested me as a punching bag. There was just so much anger in him, so much violence cascading from his curled fingers; it made me feel a little sick. I hoped that wasn't what I looked like when I let the vampire take hold of me and dictate my actions.

I should have felt horrible about what I'd already done today. I should have been grieving for the life I'd ended, and begging whatever God sat up in the sky to take it all back—but all my focus lay with Peter.

It was strangely beautiful, in a perverse way; the grace with which he moved, the way his muscles flexed and coiled under his skin, and the way he struck with such certainty. I watched with rapt fascination, and the rest of the world faded away in the haze of smoke that floated through the air as our small contingent began the process of destroying the vampires who'd dared stand against us. Peter toyed with the man for a bit, and it seemed to me like he was letting loose pent up aggression and frustration that I hadn't even realized was there; he was far too good at hiding such things.

"Just end it," Daniel snapped somewhere off in the distance, and not thirty seconds later the man's head fell from his body, curls of hair swaying hauntingly in the breeze.

Peter stood still for a moment, taking deep and even breaths through his flared nostrils, before turning his head to the side and responding to Daniel, "Clean this shit up, I'm gonna take some of 'em back."

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and nodded slightly, and with one more quick examination of his furious profile I followed, recognizing the gesture for what it was—I was to go with him. Peter turned his back to me and motioned toward the friend of Gregory's that had participated in the fight, and I made sure to stay back from the two of them as Peter led us back north. Our path veered a little bit west after a few miles; we weren't heading straight back to camp, and something gnawed at my gut, some feeling invaded my senses and insisted something bad was about to happen.

"Stay here for a minute," Peter requested once we were about halfway between the site of the battle and camp, and then he led our companion further west.

It took me five minutes before I realized what he was going to do, and by then I was sure it was too late to do anything about it. It took me another two before I forced myself to follow him; I should try to stop him, even if the chances were slim. It wasn't up to Peter to decide who lived or died.

Peter's trail was easy enough to pick up; his scent was like a homing beacon to me. He'd zig-zagged through the trees, and there seemed to be no method to his path, no destination in mind. The only thing I came across were more and more trees as I tracked the route he'd used to march yet another one of his charges toward their death.

Smoke hung in the air in dense clouds, that all too familiar smell wafted through the breeze.

When I found him he was disheveled and dirty, sitting at the base of a large oak tree. His elbows rested on his knees as he bent and flexed his fingers, staring at the small, roaring fire the remaining pieces of vampire smoldered in. He almost looked like he felt a little bad about killing him.

I couldn't tell if he noticed my presence right away, but he leaned ever so slightly closer to me when I sat beside him.

"You shouldn't have done that, Peter," I sighed, shaking my head a little. "You really just need to stop."

"It'll be fine."

"That's not what I meant," I said after a moment, and Peter nodded his head.

"I know."

"Are you okay?" I asked tentatively. It was obvious that he wasn't, but I didn't want to push him over the edge. I wasn't even sure when it was that I started to care this much, but the truth was that Peter had been steadily pushing against my walls, just like I'd been beating at his. Somewhere along the line he'd managed to break his way through, and I was going to have to be careful to make sure I didn't get blown back too far by the inevitable fallout.

"Yeah, just thinking," he rasped, shaking his head and stilling his hands. He wore his heart on his sleeve in a way, if you knew what to look for, and right now I could tell there was a battle raging inside his head.

Peter turned swiftly, and grabbed the sides of my face before pressing a desperate kiss to my lips, and I was torn between being amazed and offended; the _nerve_.

"What are you _doing?_" I snapped, swatting his arms away and making a conscious effort to sound more offended than I was. I immediately put a few more inches between us; I was confused enough, and now he was only making everything more difficult. It was colossally unfair, that the first time a man kissed me it would be here, in this place. It shouldn't have been after I killed another being for no good reason; under the best of circumstances I wouldn't have known whether or not this was something I was truly happy about. This was not what first kisses were meant to be.

"I thought it was pretty obvious," Peter retorted shortly, retaking his blank stare into the distance stretching in front of him.

"You can't just do that," I said as firmly as I was able, because I knew for a fact that Peter didn't follow those sorts of rules. Peter said nothing, and my mind wandered to the way it had felt; warm, hard, and could have been heart-racing...my lips tingled where his had touched them. It seemed not everything that coursed through my veins and livened my skin that night had been Jasper's influence.

"Wanted to make sure I got to, at least once," Peter answered stubbornly, gritting his teeth, "and don't worry, I _get it_. You don't want me; I won't try it again."

My eyebrows shot up in shock, and I twisted my body as I leaned forward to examine his face. It was blank as ever, but after a few seconds I realized just how much Peter was struggling to keep it that way. I hadn't really thought that he actually cared about me, not like that, anyway. All his talk of mates and fondness hadn't felt entirely genuine at the time, and he hadn't done anything to try to assure me of the validity of his claims. Our interactions were tense and full of words that needed to be interpreted; after the last time I'd been alone with him I'd assumed everything had been colored by Jasper, and that what he claimed to feel had been product of him simply not knowing enough about care and love to know any better.

I wondered if this almost fluttering in my stomach was because of him, if this near feeling of contentment that ghosted over my heart was his presence soothing the beast that thrashed inside of me, and I barely even had to think the words before they came bursting out of my mouth. "We should run."

It was a plea, an offer to compromise, and I hoped desperately that Peter would see that I would be willing to give him the chance to prove himself, if only we were away from that vile place resting to the east—but instead he set his jaw and avoided my stare.

"Away from here it's just more of the same. At least with Jasper I have a station, I'm safe...as safe as I can be, anyway—and that means I can protect you. If we run we have to start over."

It was the answer I'd expected from him, but I was still disappointed. There'd been a little piece of me that had hoped Peter would agree; that we could run as far as our legs would carry us and never look back, and that the act would prove him to be a better man than I assumed. Instead I was left in the same place I'd been ever since I met him; staring at the charred remains of yet another person who'd been cursed with my fate but hadn't been lucky enough to enthrall Peter.

He sighed once more, then shook his head sharply and rose to his feet. "You could at least give me something less indifferent than this."

The words were quiet, and I knew I could have pretended not to hear them, but then again, what would the point be; he'd just wait awhile, and then scream them an inch from my ear.

"It's kind of hard for me to figure out what I think of you," I admitted as I followed suit and picked myself up off the dirt.. "I can't figure you out, and the things that I do know about you aren't..."

"I may not pay others the same courtesy, but I watch out for you. Why isn't that enough?" Peter's interruption came spilling out with force, and a hint of frustration that that almost made it seem like he honestly just couldn't even fathom doing anything more than he already was.

"I don't understand how you can say I mean something to you, when it doesn't seem like you care much about anything." I pressed my lips together in irritation for this man who steadfastly refused to see that he couldn't pick one thing in the entire world to care about, and leave the rest to burn. "It doesn't mean anything, to be more than the rest, when the rest are nothing."

"Well, I don't understand it either," Peter snapped before screwing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath as he tried, and failed, to calm himself.

His slow, steady exhale fanned over my cheeks, and it wasn't until then that I realized we were nearly standing toe to toe with fists clenched as we argued pros and cons to something neither of us wanted to budge on. He was just so stubborn, but then again, so was I.

"And if I give you an inch, how many miles are you going to take?" I asked, and the only rationalization I could come up with was that I simply just wanted to know how he'd answer.

"One. Maybe two," he shot back without missing a beat, and I couldn't keep the small smile and slight chuckle to myself.

I could feel myself getting sucked deeper and deeper into this bottomless hole of actual affection for this crazed and violent man that I didn't even want to like in the first place. I didn't want to care for him, and I didn't want this attachment I felt to grow any stronger—but every time we spoke, every single occasion he let me catch a glimpse of that softer side of him I fell further, and I mourned for a reality that would never exist, one where I would find him whole and untarnished and we'd be able to laugh, smile, and grow to care for each other. I would have very much liked to have met that Peter.

In a world like that I thought that maybe I could fall in love with the creases of his eyes, or the soft smile I'd glimpsed only once—and perhaps he could even learn to love me back.

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><p><strong>AN: Next chapter will post...at some point in the next 2-10 days? Honestly, I have no idea. If at some point I'm not either passed out or in the process of a brain implosion at work, then it'll go up. :-)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Beta'd by SweeneyAnne & pre-read by THEChickNorris and GemmaLisax.**

**Don't own Twilight.**

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><p>"It's just another day<br>One more chance to get this right  
>I'll sacrifice forever, please just for tonight<br>If we get through tomorrow, then we'll be fine  
>We'll wait for forever, and see how close we get<p>

The worst is over, for now  
>Take a breath, now let it out"<p>

-Post Script, Finch

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><p><strong>August, 1880<strong>

I had been worried about Jasper feeling this new thing welling up inside me when it came to Peter, though I had no name for it—but my fear had wound up being unfounded, and I had never expected that to be something unfortunate. Everything else was the same as it had been the morning before we'd left for our battle; the only thing that had changed was me.

The truth was that I rarely saw Peter anymore. The morning after our fight had been almost quiet; Peter and Daniel took those who participated out for a 'reward', which I opted to abstain from. I didn't want to know what mouthwateringly tempting thing could cause such excitement among the older vampires of our camp in anticipation, and I certainly didn't want to know what Peter considered a reward; I already had far too much tallied up against him. Instead I kept to myself for the day, and the next time the sun rose over the concrete and dirt I headed out to the training area, only to find Jasper standing next to Daniel, and Peter nowhere to be found.

My first thought was that Jasper must have killed him, and I couldn't quite contain the accusatory glare I sent his way, or the surprising stabbing of pain that shot through me at the thought—but not a moment later I knew that it couldn't be. I didn't know how, or exactly what it was that made me so sure, but I _knew_ that if Peter were gone, I would feel the rattle of his loss throughout my entire being. Peter was constant, he was as sure as the sky and the moon, and I knew without a doubt that even the taste of a world without him would be different.

Jasper smirked lowly in my direction, the knowing glint in his eyes set a shiver up my spine, and I struggled to contain myself. I didn't like Jasper being privy to my every fleeting feeling; he had no right to steal those things from me. From that look I knew that the intuition that had suddenly made itself know in my gut was correct; Peter was alive, and Jasper was playing some sort of game.

I found over the next couple of hours that I genuinely missed Peter at these practices. I'd never realized it, just how calming his presence was, because up until now he'd always been there, somewhere in the background. Now he was just gone, and my muscles felt like they were coiled tighter, the heat of frustration and anger that bathed me was just a little hotter...my strikes were just a little more deadly.

Of course, the others blamed me for this sudden change in supervisor. From what I'd understood Peter rarely showed up, even when it had been part of his job. He'd only started coming after he'd found me, and just as they'd blamed me for subjecting them to Peter, now it was my fault that Jasper's ferocity was present.

It had been ages since I'd actively counted the hours that passed, but I seemed to have picked up the habit in the lull of the next six days. The time slipped right by me, barely noticeable beneath the cloud of monotony and unhappiness that followed me at every turn. It was on day nine that I realized that if I thought about it, really thought about it, it was not only easy to not hate Peter, but also to imagine a completely alternate reality where we alone, and happy.

I was starting to think that I wouldn't ever know if the fantasy could ever be real, because Peter still hadn't shown his face for more than a moment, or given any indication that he'd start making appearances in our morning lessons, and that had been where we spent most of our time together. I decided that if everyone else got to blame me for that, then I at least should get to blame Jasper. The bubbling hatred inside of me for the demonic man intensified with every glance his way. He'd stolen away my only measure of comfort, the only thing that made me feel less alone, and with every knowing smirk and haughty sneer he sent my way the fire in my belly raged hotter, and I made sure that whatever unfortunate soul I was pitted against in practice suffered just as much as I did.

It was only fair, because without Peter there to select the teams and watch out for me in his own way, the fights were more brutal. More than once I had to hobble my way back to camp nursing wounds, all the while trying to keep myself out from under Jasper's scrutinizing eye, and that vindictive and spiteful side of me felt a little better when I wasn't the only one hurting.

I was all alone in this world, cast out and exiled from my peers before I'd even taken my last breath, and the thought shot stabs through my lungs. I just wanted someone to call my friend; someone I could talk quietly with late into the night about all these doubts and fears running loose in my head. I wanted my tongue to roll and let my lips shape my uncertainties, so maybe I could figure all of this out—and I very much wanted to separate out all the things I felt into the dozens of categories floating around in my skull; the things I felt, the things Peter had earned through his twisted brand of kindness, what the vampire told me, and what Jasper shot into my chest in waves. It was no wonder I couldn't discern the sincerity of anything anymore.

It was a role Peter couldn't fill, wouldn't fill, even if I had wanted him to. With him I still felt the distance bubbling around me, because whether out of stubbornness or pride, or that raging survival instinct that soaked my bones, we couldn't allow ourselves to become that close.

Peter still stared, during the few times he could, as he wandered the camp, but even those brief and penetrating examinations of my form weren't nearly enough to satisfy this craving I had for him; I hadn't even realized it was there until he was gone. My need for him had to be satisfied by his passing glances and raised voice sounding out over the camp during his increasingly frequent arguments with Jasper. Daniel made no mention of him in battle contingencies, and Jasper seemed to have permanently taken his place out in the fields every morning. I almost thought I'd be crushed under the weight of everyone's accusatory eyes; even Jasper seemed to deem me guilty of something.

I'd never been able to figure out just what Peter and Jasper were fighting about so often, being privy to only one side of the conversation made it particularly difficult to follow.

It was very nearly a weekly ritual now, to sit in rapt attention as I tried to figure out just what the subject of their bickering could be. I thought it might have been me, but I also thought that Jasper probably didn't actually know that, at least not positively.

"You can't _do_ this again!" Peter shouted, and my brows furrowed with worry as I looked toward the closed door of his room. It was Jasper in there with him, again.

The door swung open forcefully, and the collision with the concrete of the building caused the top hinge to separate from the frame. The whole door came crashing down as Jasper stalked after Peter with his lips pressed together and a sort of curious anger written all over his face.

"That's bullshit," Peter snapped, responding to some unknown emotion sent by Jasper, and he paused for a moment before spinning around to face him. "I'm only questioning your orders because they're _insane_!"

Had I seen Jasper lunge for Peter there wouldn't have been anything in the world that could have stopped me from trying to intercede—but Jasper was far too fast to be able to predict the movement. I blinked once and he had the fingers of one hand wrapped around Peter's neck as he crouched over him.

I'd never realized it before, how much Peter held back when we sparred, I'd always thought he was intentionally hard on me—but the kick he aimed at Jasper's calf was twice as vicious as any he'd ever directed at me, and the punch laid to Jasper's jaw rebounded with a large crack over the grounds of the camp. The sound echoed out through the area, and I was almost thankful for it, because now the others were starting to gather. They pushed and shoved at each other to try and gain the best viewpoint of the unprecedented fight between officers, and I swallowed thickly as I allowed myself to be shuffled to the back, where I couldn't see so well.

The odd thing was that as Peter was going at it harder than I'd ever seen him, it was with a casual detachment that Jasper dodged the blows he could and retaliated with his own. I wasn't just speculating that Jasper was going easy, either; I'd seen him fight harder than this, and it was something that I just didn't understand. The only logical answer was that Jasper didn't actually want to hurt Peter, but that didn't make any sense, Jasper didn't care about anyone, including himself.

It was becoming harder and harder to maintain my composure, and I knew I couldn't make a move, couldn't allow myself to feel protective or worried over Peter for fear Jasper would feel it, too, and it was just as I was nearing the breaking point that Jasper found the opening he was looking for, got hold of both Peter's arms and slammed him back to the ground so hard that Peter laid a solid inch deep in the dirt.

"It's a fuckin' waste," Peter growled. "It's unnecessary, and you know it."

Jasper fisted Peter's shirt in his hand, pulled his body up and slammed it down again in response, and from between two men's shoulders I saw Peter set his jaw and blow out an angry breath before he spat out words laced with fire and hatred, "_Fine._ I'll take care of it."

The cock of Jasper's head was almost childlike, and after a moment he stood. His eyes swept the camp once, and when they landed on me he stalked in my direction, that curious anger written all over his face.

I stood on shaky legs when my brain comprehended that Jasper was halfway to me already, and my inhale was ragged as I took six rapid steps away from him, closer to the building behind me. I thought for sure he must mean to kill me, and it crushed my soul to admit to myself that if he wanted me dead there was nothing I could do about it.

My comrades fled as Jasper took step after step—they were such traitors, and the tall, empty man didn't stop until he was four inches away from me. His breath fanning over my face sent chills running through me, the curiosity he coated me in produced a shiver of dread that clawed its way up my spine. He moved closer still, and I struggled to contain the insistent demand my body made of me to flee. It would do me no good.

I had the strongest desire to look for Peter, but I couldn't force my eyes away from the visage of death standing in front of me.

He was looking for something, that much I knew for sure, and had I any idea exactly what it was that had peaked his curiosity, then perhaps this moment wouldn't have been so terrifying—but my knees knocked against each other, my lip quivered, and I swayed in place by the slightest degree, giving Jasper the excuse he needed to lay his hand on my shoulder and dig his fingers into my flesh. I'd thought Peter wasn't a good person to have interested in me, but Jasper...to even have Jasper look my way probably spelled nothing short of death.

If my heart beat it would have exploded from all the fear coursing through my veins. Jasper took a deep breath, the inhale caused his chest to rise just enough to come within millimeters of mine, and I squeezed my eyes shut as I prayed for salvation from whatever it was he planned to do to me.

Jasper's face bowed in closer, lower, and a moment later I felt the ice of his tongue press over my jugular and sweep up the length of my neck to just below my ear, where he pressed his teeth to my skin and growled. He was more animal than man, more feral than I'd ever even imagined he could be, and I thought that maybe, deep down, I understood what he was doing. He wanted to taste my fear, to assure himself that I was no different from all the rest, because he could still trample me with his gift—and I was more than a little sure he was trying to assert his dominance over Peter, too.

His grip on me tightened for half a second, and before he released me I was flooded with indifference, apathy—Jasper's own way of telling me I wasn't so special after all. His grip loosened so suddenly that I tilted off balance, and after my body crumpled to the ground I looked up to see Jasper's malicious face almost smiling at the defeat written across my face and thudding through my heart.

He tilted his head as he bent his knees, resting his forearms on them when he reached my level.

Shame, more apathy. He knew he should care but he pushed it back; it was what made Jasper so powerful, what inspired such terror in us all—that shade of grey he kept himself shrouded in was the most fearsome aspect of this monster. There was nothing he wouldn't do, all he needed was a reason; orders, gratification, amusement—I was willing to bet he could rationalize anything if he tried.

He stood and walked away with a caustic glance in Peter's direction, before making his way through the camp; bystanders scurried to get out of his way as he left the compound, heading east.

"You," Peter snapped, sounding absolutely explosive in his fury as he jabbed his forefinger in my direction. "You need to feed, let's move."

I could practically hear the eye rolls and thoughts of 'of course' coming from my comrades, so I behaved a little more timidly than I normally would as I joined Peter. Maybe if they thought was still afraid of him it would quiet the rumors; if not, well; we were going to have to think of something else, because if nothing else, Jasper had just confirmed all the speculation that had been flying through the air.

Peter didn't really say anything as we ran to town, and he left me on my own to find my prey. Again, I thought of running away, but I still couldn't quite make myself do it, but for very different reasons from the first time. Now I had something to tie me here, no matter how bad things got I just couldn't fathom the idea of leaving Peter. We were caught somewhere in the vast betweenness of nothing and everything, and even though our relationship wasn't something I had a definition for, I still couldn't fathom leaving without him. He'd somehow wormed his way into my life, for better or for worse, and the majority of me wanted him to stay there.

I went back, again, and there was a little bit of me that hated Peter for inspiring such idiocy in me. I should have run.

Peter stood with his arms crossed, leaning his right side against a tree not two yards from where he'd set me loose. The slightly surprised smile on his face told me that he, too, had considered the possibility that I might take off and never look back; he looked happy that I hadn't.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked carefully, and his expression immediately neutralized before becoming angry. "Jasper knows something, doesn't he?"

"He's suspicious," Peter confirmed. "It wasn't so long ago that I was the least violent man here, now I'm responsible for more deaths than even he is. He knows something's changed."

"I told you to stop killing the others," I said softly, and I felt a little terrible for being grateful for all Peter had done to keep me as safe as possible.

"The choice I had...there was no choice." Peter's voice was hard, his gaze stony as he stared at the horizon. "It was either kill them or let them lay their hands on you, and to be fair, I didn't kill them all; Robert only got thrown into the fire."

I took a moment to absorb this new information, I'd wondered what had possessed him to push that man into the flames of the campfire all that time ago, now it seemed I had my answer. It was a little shocking, in actuality, to realize that he actually _had_ been trying to keep me safe, even back then.

"And instead you wound up with Jasper licking me," I grumbled, choosing not to comment on his revelation, as I crossed my arms. It still felt like there were sheets of gritty ice resting against my neck and shoulders where Jasper had touched me, and I wanted so much to scrub the area until the skin was raw and all evidence of the event had been long scraped away.

Peter growled, deep and full; it hadn't been fair of me to bring it up. "He's too curious to try to kill you. Thank God."

I said nothing; we'd discussed Jasper before, briefly, and there was little use in arguing with him. Neither of us could sway the other.

"It wasn't about you, you know that right?" Peter asked, and my eyebrows furrowed as I tried to work out what he meant; it was the first time Peter had ever offered information so plainly.

"What do you mean?" I asked, giving up on trying to extract his point.

"He's trying to provoke me," Peter shrugged, and I bit back the scathing remark that wanted to come flying out of my mouth and tell Peter that it was clear Jasper had been successful. "It's so far below him, I can't believe he stooped to something so childish—but Jasper's been teetering on the edge for a while now."

"Don't tell me you still have some delusion of saving him?" I scowled, and when Peter's lips pressed together in irritation I knew that was exactly what he wanted. I let out a little breath and reached out a hand to touch his forearm, pressing forward even after he jerked away. It was such an odd reversal, this desire I had to comfort him. "I don't know him like you do...I guess if you think that there's some good in him, I'll have to hope you're right."

"He could go either way...he does, go either way."

"How long have you known him?" I asked; perhaps if I understood a little more of the strange relationship they shared that didn't seem to be based in any particular affection then I would understand Peter's unwillingness to give up on Jasper better.

"I don't think I could say that I've ever known him. He's been here ever since I have, and about fourteen years before that," Peter answered, and my mind boggled. _Seventeen_ years? My whole life, the entire time I'd been on this earth Jasper had been in the thick of war; it would have taken a monster to not feel some measure of sympathy for that.

"Is it true that he...?" I began, pausing when I realized I wasn't quite sure which of the horrific things I'd heard about him I could stomach confirmation of. I wasn't so certain that I actually wanted confirmation that Jasper had publicly executed four newborns six years ago for a simple act of disobedience, or if the whispers around camp of the time he'd slaughtered an entire family in their beds for no reason at all other than to entertain himself were true. For someone who didn't speak, he was a common topic of conversation and speculation among my comrades, and the things they said about him had the quality of legends. They were tales passed down through generations of newborns, and it was all hearsay.

"Whatever you've heard about him is probably not completely true, but that doesn't mean it's not apt," Peter interrupted, and that was answer enough.

"Has he always been mute?" I wondered aloud, and Peter shook his head.

"No, he stopped talking eight months ago. I think...I think he's starting to realize..." Peter trailed off before leaning his head back and gazing at the sky. "I don't know what it means, but I do think it indicates that there could be hope for him."

"What else?" I prodded, hoping to keep him talking; it was so rare for him to open up.

Peter sighed, and I immediately knew this next thing would be something he didn't particularly want to share. "He thinks we're friends. It's the last thing he said to me, that he was surprised to enjoy having a friend. I didn't realize it until recently, but he actually believes it—he thinks we're close...

"That means something, right? It has to." He whispered the last words, and I had never seen him look quite so unsure and on the cusp of vulnerability.

I'd never heard such desperately hopeful words sound so sad, and I stewed for a moment as I allowed myself to try and untangle the cobweb that made up a relationship I wasn't so sure I wanted to understand. In the end I had to take a deep breath, and just let it go, for now. Peter was guarded on his best days, and this wasn't something I'd ever be able to figure out on my own because he wasn't going to let me, not until he was ready. In the meantime he seemed relatively forthcoming about other things, and I found it was best to focus on what he was more willing to talk about; it felt ever so slightly less like pulling teeth.

"Alright, tell me what happened, why were you fighting?"

Peter didn't want to tell me, that much was clear from the way he clammed up instantly—but this was something he was getting better with.

"He wants you for the next battle, and now he's sending me off on some ridiculous 'mission' so I can't be there. He doesn't even need you; all he knows is that I don't want you to go for some reason." He spat the words furiously, as though he were speaking of nothing more than sibling rivalry, and his volume nearly startled me, it was so loud. We usually conversed in whispers, it was safer that way. "I think he might let it go—but _Jesus,_I'm so fuckin' pissed at him. Here I am trying to do him some good, and he may as well be torturing me for something he doesn't even understand."

I didn't know how to respond to that, it wasn't like I was going to actively defend Jasper. That part of me still furious and bitter towards Peter readied itself to be known, to tell him that he wasn't the only one being tortured, but it wound up not mattering, because Peter was not nearly done with his rant.

"He completely mind-fucks me, saying shit like I'm his friend out of the goddamn blue, and then he turns around and stops talking. He sends me affection and then orders me to stay away from training and battles just because he knows one of you is important to me, and he wants to know who. It's _maddening_." Peter punctuated his rambling with a deep and heavy inhale that flared his nostrils; the look on his face was positively terrifying.

"He's not even making good strategic decisions anymore. He's fuckin' sinking, and I can't decide if I want to pull him out or hold him under and just watch him drown. I don't even know if he _wants_ to be saved, if he even cares at all...and why the _fuck_ should I try to help someone who doesn't want it."a

He was a switch flipping back and forth so quick that even he didn't know which direction he'd ended up facing, and for just a second the sick circle we were stuck in made a little more sense—and while I wanted to turn this around and make it about me, I found that I couldn't right now. Every single fear and doubt that welled inside of me, all this anger gnawing at my insides, Peter had all those things, too—and they'd completely destroyed him.

"I can't figure out if you're trying to talk yourself into or out of something," I admitted carefully, supremely worried for Peter now that I was starting to see how unraveled he was at the seams. So much conflict spun around in him, not ten minutes ago he'd been talking about Jasper and hope.

"Me either," Peter scowled.

"He broke up my fight with Gregory," I offered, so irritated with myself because here I was defending Jasper, just like I hadn't wanted—though I did wonder if perhaps all this hatred of mine that had to land somewhere had simply managed to direct itself toward Jasper in the wake of my fear of him.

"No, his presence gave Gregory pause, he called me to come break it up," Peter argued.

"Maybe that's just how his mind works. He stopped it, that's all I'm saying, he could have walked away and said nothing, let us keep going at it until one of us was in pieces. Damn it, Peter." I couldn't believe I was reduced to cursing just to get my point across. "He's an awful, horrible man, what do you want me to say? I can think of once that maybe he wasn't, isn't that what you want to hear? That once, just one time, he wasn't completely terrible?"

"Maybe what I want is to see him not be completely terrible _to me_. He didn't always treat me like this, not until _after_ he decided he liked me," Peter said angrily, cutting the air with an emphatic wave of his arm.

"Why don't you just leave?" I asked, exasperated with him, and more than a little hurt that he wouldn't consider the option of running away when I'd told him that we could give whatever this thing was between us a shot if only we weren't trapped in this hell. It was hard to believe that I meant something to him when he refused me a life free of war and death.

"Because there's nothing better out there. I obey its how I survive; I follow orders, and I don't step out of line. It may not be ideal, but at least I get to live, even if I am on a leash."

"I don't want to live in chains," I muttered, mostly to myself, but hoping he heard, all the same. I was starting to realize just how bizarre this situation really was; Peter looked up to Jasper, in a way, and he was stubborn in his refusal to betray him, though I couldn't have said just why that was.

"They always die," Peter said sharply in response. "The ones who run, they always get caught, and Jasper always kills them. What good am I dead?"

I wondered how Peter would react, when I took a step closer and nervously wrapped my arms around his waist. I'd never done anything like this before, had never outwardly shown any tenderness toward him; it was unlikely anyone had since he came to be a vampire. He seemed surprised, at first, but then his arms came around my shoulders and he set his cheek against the top of my head and let out a long sigh.

"I wish..." he said quietly, the movement of his jaw sending waves down my hair to tickle my neck, "I wish that I could make this all better. I know that you don't really see me as someone you should be with, and that's your right—but if I were to tell you that if I could be that man for you, I would, would it make any difference?"

I smiled against the bumps of his skin, because whether or not he realized it this was progress. He wanted it, and that honestly did make all the difference in the world.

"Yes."

"Okay," he breathed, running his thumb over my shoulder blade before tightening his arms around me.

I'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to be hugged, but all the pleasure his contact brought me was immediately sunk by the memory of his dejected and angry face spewing words to justify the kiss he'd laid on my lips not so long ago.

_'You don't want me.'_

It was all over too soon, and when Peter stepped back I recognized the look that colored his face. His defenses were back, and he'd retreated the necessary distance to keep himself apart from everything around him. It was heartbreaking to see him stand in front of me, a fraction of the man he could be.

"We should get back."

"Okay," I agreed, taking reluctant steps in the direction of the camp.

If I had one ounce of sanity left in bones I would have run, let the wind carry me as far as it could, and try to start over—but I kept walking, kept my pace steady as we headed back to the last place on the planet earth I wanted to be while I listened to Peter's assurances that he'd find a way for us to spend time together now that he wasn't so present in my day to day life. If it weren't for Peter, there would have been nothing to make me return—and I halted my movements, nervously contemplating the gamble I was about to make.

I supposed if I thought about it, it was only a matter of time before I broke down and gave Peter the chance he'd been asking for. My initial dislike of him was wholly rooted in something he'd done to me that I wasn't entirely sure was even in his control. Now that I'd had a chance to adjust a little, now that I'd experienced for myself exactly how few of my actions were the product of my mind rather than my body, especially when the smell of blood was involved, I could almost see how just being there, in that alley, had been enough to seal my fate. Mostly Peter had been good to me, or at least he hadn't been downright awful like everyone else who lived in this little world along with me.

He made me feel safe, made me feel like even though my heart no longer beat it still thudded away, unrelenting, deep in my chest—and in the end that was the deciding factor. Peter made me feel, and he was the only thing in my life that did; everything else was numb.

I'd tried so hard to put Peter into a box, but I was starting to learn that the world wasn't as clear cut into strips of black and white as I'd assumed. This entire reality of mine was grey, and maybe what I should have done from the beginning was look to the fact that Peter had never actively done anything to hurt me, and he'd never allowed me to be harmed by another if he could stop it. I couldn't keep tallying up chalk marks into columns to define him, because that just wasn't how it worked.

And I wondered if maybe, just maybe, this whole 'mate' thing wasn't just the product of sadistic minds bent on breaking the weakest of us down. I could almost see it, sometimes; that glimmer of something simmering just under Peter's skin that represented something inside him that I could love. If it was really there, I wanted the chance to discover it, and if it wasn't...well, I wanted to know that, too.

"Peter...I wanted to tell you..." I started, before needing to take a deep breath to remind myself that telling him my first impressions weren't exactly accurate wasn't a blow to my pride. "I guess, what I want to say is you're not all that bad."

Peter appraised me for nearly a whole minute before he asked quietly, "So, then, are we...we're going to do this?"

"I think I'd be willing to try," I corrected softly, and he nodded his agreement, "but only if you can promise me something."

Peter kept his gaze even with mine, and after a moment I shored up my courage. "If you promise to stop killing the others...if you can rein in that temper of yours...then yes, I'm willing to give whatever this thing between us is a chance."

He looked conflicted, and I knew this wasn't something that was fair to ask of him—but I wanted to know if it was something he'd blatantly deny me, or if maybe he'd try to compromise. I shouldn't have thought so little of him; in the end he just told me the truth.

"I can't promise that. There's going to be times where I'm going to have to do distasteful things to keep you safe, and alive."

"Will you try?" I asked after a moment, and Peter nodded immediately before continuing his strides back to camp.

"So when you say 'this'...what exactly does that mean?"

"I don't know," I admitted sadly. Everything would be so much easier if I only knew what it was that I wanted from him.

"Alright," Peter shrugged, "Let me know when you figure it out."

It was the first time I'd smiled in months, though the slight upturn of the right corner of my lip could barely count as one—but the agreement between us also went a long way toward calming the waters around me. There was so much less to be angry about now, there was a buoy in this ocean I could hold onto and keep myself from sinking.

Not much changed on the surface. There were still sidelong glances and tamped down feelings of confusion and want—but I found some comfort in the acceptance I'd embraced. It felt good, to not fight so hard to hate him. I would have thought that the uncertainty of how this would all work would bother me more, instead it seemed easier for me to go with the flow now that something was stable, even if that thing appeared to be just as lost as me. I knew that eventually Peter and I would get some time together away from prying eyes and Jasper's gift, and for now that was enough..or at least it was, until the next time my eyes met Jasper's. He was leading a small contingent away from camp, and I could have sworn he narrowed his eyes in my direction for half a second before turning his head back toward the front.

The raging curiosity was back, and all the calm I'd found in my tentative understanding of Peter was washed back out to sea in a new wake of confusion—and that was fair. This place did not exude calm, and it was a comfort I could not afford to indulge in anyway. This camp was pain and confusion, dark swirls of red and black spinning all around me, looking for an opening to wind around my neck and bring me to my knees. To let my guard down was a very dangerous thing, and I needed to keep my focus squarely on what was going on all around me, so that the snake wouldn't have its chance.

It wasn't until much later, when the time had long passed for a hunting party to return that I realized that the group Jasper had led away hadn't been going to feed, they'd been going to fight, and for some reason he hadn't taken me with him like he'd told Peter he would.

In a thousand years I probably wouldn't be able to figure Jasper out, his behavior was too wild, and none of it felt particularly sincere. There were days he reminded me of a child, and others where he was more of a lion baring its teeth, and then there were times, though they were very few, where I could almost envision him as a man. Jasper would have stood straight and been unwavering in his beliefs, and I wondered just what it was he'd believed in back then.

I'd never really given much thought to it, whether Jasper had simply been born bad, or if he'd been molded into this horrible creature he was now. I thought I might have to believe the latter, because I didn't want to exist in a world where something like Jasper could be created out of nothing.

Peter's form striding angrily toward his room an hour later brought about a second revelation; the moment he caught sight of me something in him caused his posture to relax, and the smile he sent my way was full of relief. He'd thought I was with the others all this time, and I wondered why Jasper would go through so much trouble to mislead him.

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><p><strong>AN: Next chapter is with the beta.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Beta'd by SweeneyAnne & pre-read by THEChickNorris and GemmaLisax.**

**Don't own Twilight.**

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><p>"Please keep the sounds from running out<br>Please let our steps fall soft  
>Keep them from hearing our talk<br>Please let some hope come with the day  
>I know you want to...<br>I know you want to...  
>I know you want to run away"<br>-Untitled 9 (The Edge Takes Over for Vin), Brand New

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><p><strong>September, 1880<strong>

I felt a little bad about it, but I wavered some in my decision to let Peter in, over the course of the next few days. It seemed I was able to come up with endless reasons why I should or should not have told him the things I did, and it was impossible to count up all the tallies and figure out just what my position on the matter was. It was the first time I'd ever simply followed my heart, though my head knew better, and it was an act that shook me down to my deepest foundations.

I rationalized that it was natural to feel indecisive. It was a weighty decision I'd made, and one that would not be without consequences—not worrying about it at all would have been more troubling. To blindly follow the feeling in my gut without consideration for all the rest than ran rampant through me would have been nothing short of foolish, and though I wasn't entirely sure I'd made the right choice, at least it was something I'd thought about, and something I'd chosen for myself.

There were different angles to everything, slight interpretations that I could use to make any case I desired, but in the end what it came down to was that Peter made me feel some measure of safety, some fluttering of warmth, and some torrent of affection that I couldn't quite explain. It was as if there was some primal part of me that could see the real him, despite all the layers of stone and indifference he shrouded himself in. On some level I _knew _him, and deep down I knew exactly why that was, even though I was still holding firm, deep in denial.

Peter was still banned from practices after his last tiff with Jasper, but he'd promised on our way back to camp the last time we'd been out that he'd figure out a way for us to spend some time together away from prying eyes—I just hadn't expected it to be so soon. Not two days later he approached me with a wink, and reached a hand out to pull me to my feet, before leading me east, away from camp.

This was odd on so many levels. It almost felt wrong to be this near to him out in the open.

The smirk Daniel sent Peter's way as we passed him by did not go unnoticed, but I decided that I'd rather not know what story Peter had come up with to explain our time alone. All I cared about was that we weren't raising suspicions, anything else I could handle in stride.

We walked this time, rather than ran, and I amused myself during our silence with the thought that this was the very first time since I'd awoken to this life that I'd done something as simple as taking a stroll; the entire landscape looked different when I wasn't running away or toward some dark unknown.

We were miles away from the camp when Peter started talking. "Tell me something about you."

It was a simple enough question, and one I had a lot of trouble formulating an answer to. I wasn't quite sure if there was anything that used to define me that could still be said to be true.

I settled on telling him, "I used to love to climb trees."

"Really?" Peter asked with a slightly amused look on his face.

"Yes, really," I laughed, remembering how exhilarating reaching for that last branch was. "There was this massive tree that stood right outside our house; as a child I must have climbed it a thousand times. I'd get to the top and sit on highest branch I could stand, and just stare out at the world around me."

"When you were a child? What about now?" Peter asked, and I shook my head.

"There comes a point where such acts are no longer appropriate. Young women shouldn't sully their dresses with tree bark." I continued to move my head from side to side as I spoke, a little saddened by the recollection of the day that marked my transition out of childhood. As far as I was concerned that was the day it had happened; the day I'd had to give up my pastime was the moment I began to grow up.

"What about you?" I asked, wanting to distract myself from melancholy thoughts as to not stain this rare occasion where Peter and I could be ourselves, and learn about each other, free from the restraints of our bondage.

"Sometimes I wish I'd lived in Laredo, when I was a man," Peter answered swiftly and sure, and the strength of this wanting of his left me reeling, even as he continued, "I wonder about it, if maybe if I'd been there, and you'd been there, we'd have found each other. I like to think that we would have, that maybe that horrid thing I did to you happened because I was supposed to—but I know that it's just something I want to be true, so I don't have to feel so bad about it."

"Oh, Peter..." I had no idea what to say to him, because all of what he'd said was true, and I wasn't going to tell him lies just to make him feel better.

"And I often think that a lot of what's happened in my life is Jasper's fault, even though it's not really true," Peter admitted, sounding a little ashamed of the sentiment. "I'd really like it if this were one of those things I could try to blame on him."

"Will you tell me what happened with you and Jasper? Why after all he's done you're still here?" I asked the question tentatively, unsure if it was something he'd be comfortable discussing—but I was so curious, and I figured that at this point he owed me the answer.

"The first time I avoided death it was because I was the best at recruiting, and I was good at handling the newborns. We'd lost a lot of soldiers, and I could handle myself well, so I got to live. After that I worked pretty closely with Jasper, being in charge of a dozen bloodthirsty newborn vampires makes for spending a lot of time together."

Peter paused for a moment and shifted his eyes toward the clouds before continuing, "He's a scary son of a bitch. I thought that maybe if I talked to him, told him about my life before I'd come to be here, he'd start to see me as a person, so I just kept at it. I told him about my wife, about how we'd been hoping to have a baby, about how I used to love to ride horses all through the evening...

"Honestly, I don't know if it did me one lick of good," Peter chuckled sourly. "Jasper's always been quiet, and believe it or not he's softened a bit since then—but he let me live, time and again; a couple of times he even saved my ass. I guess after a couple of years it just was, we're a team, comrades, you don't just throw that shit away. I fought so hard just to get here..."

Honestly, I should have been focusing on what Peter was telling me, not the sour feeling that had risen up in my stomach the moment he'd spoken of his wife, and their desire for children. That life of his was done with, he'd told me as much already, and I was a little embarrassed to admit I was jealous of this faceless woman who had been blessed enough to be with Peter when he was still capable of things like love and kindness. It wasn't fair that I only got him now, and that I couldn't give him those things he'd wanted back then.

It wasn't just her, either, that anonymous woman I'd already decided I hated out of nothing more than my own pettiness; it was about Jasper, too, how Peter had talked about his life before with him, and when the subject came up between us he'd act like it was something he didn't care about in the slightest. It felt like I was always coming in second place, no matter which side I looked at it from.

Peter glanced at me out of the corner of his eye once it became apparent that my silence would continue, and he sighed softly, and reached his hand up to run his fingers through his mess of hair.

"I know it's hard for you to understand this, but I don't hate him, not even now. I get angry with him, I disagree with some of his actions, and sometimes he does things that make my blood boil—but what it all comes down to is that I trust him to have my back. In his own twisted way he's on my side, and I'm on his, too...you don't want to be hearing this..." Peter trailed off, a slightly distant look on his face.

"It's alright," I assured him, and I pulled his hand from his hair and twined his fingers with my own, and lied. "I don't need to agree with you, I just have to know where you're coming from."

"Thanks," Peter said quietly, tightening his fingers around mine for a moment. It was a sweet gesture, and one that sent flutters through my stomach.

I tugged lightly on his hand, a gesture that he correctly took to mean that we should keep walking, and once his legs began their strides I leaned the side of my face against his arm and matched his pace in companionable silence.

It felt nice, I thought, this time spent walking with Peter. I wasn't sure if I'd ever felt something quite like it; as a girl I'd never been in the sole company of a man, and as a vampire I'd never felt comfortable—but it was something I could almost feel between the skin of my fingers as my feet wore a path across the dirt. When I was with him I could almost imagine being at peace and content, and with that thought I edged just a little closer to Peter, and pressed my cheek against his shoulder as we made far too quick strides.

"How old were you?" I asked lazily. It was a question I should have thought of sooner, but I couldn't imagine the answer would have any bearing on my circumstances.

"Twenty-six."

I almost didn't believe him, though I had attributed many of the hard lines of his face and stony red of his eyes to hardship, rather than age.

"I'm a child compared to you," I laughed, perhaps a tinge of bitterness to my tone.

"You'll soon realize that time means very little, now; age even less so."

I agreed with him, though I was sure for different reasons. This endless time stretching out in front of me, though uncertain, made me feel disembodied, like I was floating over the river of time instead of in it. The whole world could change before my very eyes, and when I looked down at myself I would still be the same. It was so very bittersweet.

We made our slow circuit through the expanse of trees and grass before Peter led me towards town to hunt, and not long after, we had to begin to make our way back. It was worse each time; the more I relented, the more I allowed myself to become complacent with the life I was living, the deeper I sank into the same charcoal that coated Peter, and I didn't want that for myself. I didn't want to have to search for something good within me—but now it almost felt like this was a crime we were committing together. I was his accomplice in the theft of human life, because I no longer tried to resist, and I while I still wanted to run away, I no longer wanted to leave him behind.

It almost felt like I owed it to him, to come back, because that slab pressing down on me had become so much heavier over the course of the past weeks; I hadn't realized he'd been shouldering some of the weight of it, off in the background. It was proof enough that he'd been honest in his declaration that even though I hadn't seen it, hadn't believed him; he'd been trying to help me all this time. Without Peter I was crushed, and I struggled to separate just which part of him I felt I needed so much; his assistance, or _him._

I was just as guilty as he was, now, and the sting of that became slightly less the more time wore on. I became desensitized to the disgust felt by that part of me that was my Father's daughter, and that weak and spongy thing inside me desperate for some sort of absolution rationalized that perhaps Peter was right; that life of mine was over, and the young girl who believed with all of her heart that the man in the white hat would save her from the evil villain was dead. It _felt_ like she was dead...

I wondered if I would ever know for sure if this was what it was like for a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon to find it had wings, or if this turn I had taken was more like an angel fallen from heaven, only to discover the pits and crags underneath the earth still had some imitation of life in them.

Mostly, I wondered if this is what it had felt like for Peter, in the beginning. Maybe one day I'd turn around and realize all these small steps and concessions I'd made had brought me further into Jasper's side of the line separating good from evil—and I wasn't even entirely sure if it was something that could be helped. Perhaps I was, by definition, an abomination. Maybe there was no way to live my life right anymore—and if that was the case I was sure I'd rather wade through this fog with Peter, trying to be content with doing the best that I could.

It felt less lonely, out in the darkness of this world, and the lightening of my psyche corresponded directly to an increase in the attention Jasper spared me. He'd been curious before, and I thought that it probably had very little to do with me, in the beginning; he'd just wanted to figure out what was happening inside Peter's head. Now his scrutiny seemed a little more personal, like I was built of rock and mortar and he wanted to tear me down brick by brick just to see how I was put together—but no matter how much battery I received in training, no matter how hard of a foe Jasper put me up against, I persevered, because even in absence, Peter gave me the strength to survive this wrath.

Peter was a bubble wrapped tight around me, the knowledge that he cared about me was a cocoon shielding me against the strengthening currents of Jasper's storm, and no matter the awful things I did, no matter the violence I found myself capable of, none of it could touch me. Not even the eight sets of teeth marks decorating my arms and shoulders could stain—it was the first time I'd ever felt like I was strong. I felt...aware as I sat with my back against the wall, watching the events unfolding in camp with just a little more attention.

It wasn't so unusual for Gregory to taunt Helen, and I was ashamed to admit it was something I'd learned to ignore, but tonight he'd taken it too far. This wasn't simple teasing and hair pulling, this was clear cut harassment. He towered over her, toying with her with his half-hearted shoves and swipes at her clothes as he backed her against the wall of one of the outbuildings.

I should never have gotten involved, I knew better. The quieter and stiller I was, the less the others noticed me, and if they ignored me that meant I was less likely to find myself in Helen's place one of these days. Every single thing that could possibly bloom up inside a person ran rampant in this place—we were all wild and out of control in one way or another.

Helen may not have been nice to me, and she may not have ever spoken two words in my direction, but she was still a person, and if I were in her shoes I would want someone to help me. It was the simple fact that it was Gregory, again, who was messing with her, that made anger pulse through me.

This was one man that I actually wished Peter would kill.

He made jeers, shoved at Helen's shoulders, and I started making my way toward the scuffle by the fire the moment Gregory reached out an arm and ripped the side of her shirt, exposing her stomach and ribs to the world. He'd gone too far.

I didn't expect him to have friends who had his back. I always imagined the men who stood casually by while he tormented whoever was unlucky enough to wander in his path were simply bystanders—but when I raced over and sunk my teeth into the flesh of Gregory's arm, hands reached out to pull me off him, and I found myself face to face with bared teeth and furious eyes; it seemed I had my own problems now.

He was the same man Peter had thrown into the campfire all that time ago, Robert, if I remembered correctly in my distracted haze; how in the world did Peter always manage to learn their names?

It was apparent why I never sparred with this one; he was very strong, and quick, and when his long fingers wrapped around my neck and I felt the stabbing pain of teeth I was sure I was about to be lost. His viciousness seemed to have an edge to it, and as my vision clouded slightly in a mockery of human reaction to being choked, I was curious if he blamed me for the burns painting his torso. In the back of my mind I wondered if trying to help someone who'd never helped me would be enough to counteract all the people I'd killed over the past few months. Probably not.

A loud, sharp whistle pierced the air, and all the fighting stilled so quick that I managed to jab my fingers into my attacker's eyes without him even defending himself, and it felt good to inflict just a little damage on the man, even it if it was a particularly cheap shot. A split second later I was absolutely suffocating in a thick fog of calm; my eyes drooped and muscled loosened, and I was barely even to keep myself upright even though I was now leaning against the wall I'd been pinned to. My neck still burned with seeping venom, but it was irrelevant; I'd hadn't felt this close to sleep in so long.

I couldn't concentrate, even as Jasper stalked into my line of sight, removing my attacker from my vicinity with ease before grabbing Gregory from off Helen as well. He pressed his fingers to his lips and let out another whistle, and within moments I could feel my body relax further, and I knew Peter was near.

"What the fuck is this?" Peter growled as he stormed into the area from the direction of his room, and Jasper passed him some unknown emotion that caused a fire to ignite in his eyes just as Jasper's hold over my senses loosened.

I couldn't maintain my composure while looking at Peter, so instead I glanced over at the girl laying on the ground, her clothes in tatters and pants erupting from her chest. She'd sustained more damage than I had; her right arm was nearly severed.

Cool fingers wrapped around my wrist, and a chill ran up through my arm and down my spine before I turned my head and realized it was Jasper who had a hold of me. I struggled to get out of his grasp; it wasn't even something I thought about on any level, just pure instinct screaming at me to get his hand _off me_. His grip was vise-like, and no amount of struggle would free me, and just when I began to panic that he was going to kill me another swirl of calm wound around me, and this time when he tugged on my arm a bit I allowed him to lead my shuffling feet in the direction of Peter's room.

It was so childlike, this worry I had that I was about to be punished.

Jasper led me to the far side of the room, and turned me so I faced the door before nodding and glancing purposefully at the ground. I sat, and a moment later I was rewarded with a marred and dismayed sense of gratitude coating my skin. I supposed that was his way of saying thank you; I didn't think Jasper even knew the concept.

"I will fight you on this one, Jasper," Peter said, storming in after us. "We agreed this was something we would _not_ tolerate."

Jasper sent a sharp look Peter's way, and Peter shook his head angrily and spat, "Daniel is tending to her. Do you think I would leave her out there alone in that condition? I'm not you."

I caught Jasper rolling his eyes for half a second; I could not figure out how in the world Peter got away with saying things like that to him. Maybe I really hadn't understood or known anything about this man, just like Peter had told me so harshly that first time we'd talked. I shouldn't have been so surprised that this wasn't what I expected; I'd never seen Peter and Jasper interact with each other outside of heated arguments that had already boiled over.

Peter seemed to be having an entirely silent conversation with Jasper, the only way to track who was 'talking' was the subtle shift of hardness in Peter's eye—but I could tell when the conversation was over, and I knew something had been settled in Peter's favor because he had the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, and the look in his eyes was one of malice.

"Good," he nodded, and took a step toward me. Jasper stepped in his way and shook his head, and for a moment I thought Peter was going to hit him—but instead he turned and opened the door, covertly shooting a worried look in my direction.

How could he leave me alone with Jasper?

The tall man pivoted in slow motion, before staring down at me with his head tilted slightly to the side. I froze, not daring to move a muscle or take a breath as fear ran rampant through me, and I looked up at him wondering if I'd even see death coming. I knew what Jasper was capable of, and even if I wasn't in such a vulnerable position there was no way I stood a chance against him.

He made a show of how slowly he moved to stand against the wall my back was pressed against, and then lower himself to the ground to sit a couple of feet away from me. It felt like having my life handed back to me, and I struggled with the idea that it didn't seem he wanted to hurt me when the tingle of something began skirt over me.

Curiosity, then something that was almost like affection passed through the air, and then curiosity again. I was smart enough to figure out that Jasper was asking me something, but the broken language he'd made up for himself wasn't something I could decipher, and when I spoke my voice was shaky with cracks. "I don't...I don't understand."

_Irritation. Curiosity._

"I don't know what you're asking me," I admitted, terrified that he would take the admission badly, and I'd wind up no more than broken pieces of something that used to be a girl littering the floor.

_Indifference._

Jasper made no further effort to communicate; he just stared blankly ahead as we waited for...I wasn't sure what it was we were waiting for.

I chanced a glance at Jasper out of the corner of my eye. His profile was hard, his mouth set in a scowl as he sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and his forearms resting across them. He looked contemplative, I thought, at first—but then I realized that if I were to assign a word to describe him at this moment I would have to use the term 'lost'. His blank eyes shifted to meet mine after a moment, and though I expected him to be irritated with me again, the feeling never came. Instead he just stared at me for another moment before turning his head back in front of him and fixing his eyes on the floor.

Jasper glanced up at Peter when he came into the room again, awkwardly helping Helen through the doorway. He looked more than a little annoyed with the commotion outside, and after a moment Peter let out a strained laugh.

"Why in the world would she like you?" he asked, furrowing his brows at Jasper before directing Helen to sit on the floor to my right.

Jasper shrugged, not seeming to care about the insult, and this time I concentrated on trying to identify what he sent to Peter, it was frighteningly similar to what he projected on the nights he spent with Maria, now that I thought about it.

"Oh..." Peter answered, his tone a little softer. "No, I don't think she likes...well, any of us very much. None of them do."

Jasper nodded, and that thoughtful and curious look was back on his face. It seemed to me that Peter had just lied to him, and gotten away with it. It was rather impressive, and more than a little disturbing, because if Peter could lie to Jasper, on some level Jasper had to have trusted him, at least a little, and I didn't like learning these small things about Jasper that made him just a little less of a monster.

_Hatred. Satisfaction. Curiosity._

This time the stream was directed at me, and I turned to Peter for a translation.

"We know this isn't the first time there's been trouble, for either of you, with those particular men. We've offered Helen retribution against the one who attacked her," Peter explained easily, and I wondered just how long it had taken them to perfect this bizarre method of communication they used. "Jasper wants to know if you'd like that right, too."

Helen kept her gaze carefully diverted as she held her arm in place, waiting for the wound to seal itself. I had barely even noticed mine—my neck was still tender, and it hurt a little to speak, but my attention was focused on more important matters, like just how many inches Jasper was away from me, and how I could increase the distance between us.

"What happens if I say no?" I asked carefully, not wanting to offend. If accepting Jasper's offer was the only way to make sure that man never bothered me again, then I'd do it—but if he was fated for death anyway, no matter the hand...

"Your group needs to learn a lesson about what happens when they defy their instructions," Peter replied, anger flashing in his eyes. "If you don't do it, someone else will."

I had to tamp down the happiness that rose up in me when Peter didn't say that he was going to be the one to teach those men the price of disobedience.

"Then let someone else do it." I stood with my words, intending to use them as an exit strategy, but Jasper's hand snaked around my ankle and held me in place.

"You're not going back out there until it's done." Peter's voice was hard and authoritative, and Jasper's fingers tightened around my leg a little in agreement.

I sat back on the floor in a huff. I did not understand this, not one single bit. Why in the world would Peter choose now to openly protect me from something, and how was it that Jasper seemed to agree with him? Neither of them had ever shown any indication of seeing any more than another faceless soldier when they looked at me in camp, I wasn't entirely sure Jasper even realized we were all people, or at least had been at one point or another.

"It won't be long," Peter assured, before exiting the room.

Jasper turned to face me once he was gone, and I realized that to him this wasn't about me; I'd just gotten caught in the crossfire. This wasn't about my safety or anyone else's, it was about Peter, and the agreement they'd made.

I thought in that moment that maybe Jasper was a lot more like Peter than I'd ever realized, because I could have sworn I could see something floating around in the swirling red of his eyes—but then Jasper took a deep breath, and a mask settled over his features. He was again the cold and calculating predator that instilled a terror so deep in me that I didn't think I would ever able to be rid of it; no matter how far I managed to run from him.

Jasper reached out his hand toward me, pausing only briefly when I flinched away, and brushed the tips of his fingers over the skin of my neck. Regret poured out from the spot he touched me for two seconds before he pulled his arm back and walked out the door.

I had no idea what it meant, and those two seconds marked the beginning of a change in him that was nearly impossible to notice, much less identify; I only saw it because I was searching.

It had been just a flash I'd seen, just a split second of frustrated curiosity—but the inkling had set my brain reeling. It was almost as if Jasper had hit a wall in that moment, like he'd had a revelation of sorts that was tossing him all about, and all he wanted in the entire world was just to understand, when he knew that he couldn't.

My head spiraled in tangents as I analyzed every scrap of Jasper's behavior that I'd been privy to during my time here, and though it was a long shot, and it was completely implausible and based on nothing but speculation, I wondered if maybe what Peter had told me was carefully planned torture was simply a primitive form of dissection. Peter had changed a lot in the past few months, and if that was something that was obvious to me, I wondered just how much of it Jasper had managed to see and feel through his gift. It had to have been confusing, and I wanted to believe so badly that maybe Jasper saw the difference in Peter and was trying to figure out just what had caused it, not so he could take it away, but so he could have it for himself, too.

I could have even gone so far as to say that maybe none of this was as it seemed, maybe Jasper had simply never cared before, and once he found that he might have a real ally in Peter, he'd been brought out of his stasis, broken and incomplete, unable to understand the world around him. Peter always said that Jasper only began to treat him poorly after he'd said he was his friend, and I wanted so badly to know if that was simply because Jasper was trying to figure out just what something other than hatred might feel like. It was almost like Jasper was running through every emotional response he knew of, and trying to illicit each one in Peter to catalogue and identify what they were, just trying to get to the combination that meant 'friend'.

It was a pipe-dream. I knew it was, but I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it, and I began to watch Jasper nearly as close as Peter had watched me during my first few weeks.

There was something so different about him now; where he was usually hard lines and strength he was now almost brittle, as if one precise strike with the head of a hammer could shatter him completely. It could have meant either of two things; maybe Jasper really was like Peter claimed, redeemable and able to repent, if only he had the knowledge and means to do so, or perhaps he was just climbing higher up on his tower so that when he released the floods to wash us all away he'd remain untouched.

Neither would have surprised me, but as I watched Jasper slowly become more sedate in his tension, and less vicious in his apathy, I couldn't help but hope that maybe a change was on the horizon for him as well.

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><p><strong>AN: One more chapter to go, and maybe an epilogue after that if I can manage to...well...write it.**

**I'm FINALLY past the crazy time at work *grins*. I had totally forgotten what it was like to have a day off. Wow, these things are nice...are you all aware of how awesome days off are?**

**Next chapter will go up sometime next week.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Last chapter kiddos. Beta'd by SweeneyAnne, and pre-read by THEChickNorris & GemmaLisax**

**Don't own Twilight.**

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><p>"How darkly the dark hand met his end<br>He was withered and bony, exposed for a phony  
>But we heed the last words that he penned<br>'Haste to disgrace a traitor, do not wait 'til later'

If you call then I'm coming to get you  
>If you call then I'm coming now<br>If you call then I'm coming to get you  
>You want to sink, so I'm gonna let you drown"<br>-Sink, Brand New

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><p><strong>October, 1880<strong>

"What was Jasper trying to ask me that day?" I asked, staring out at the burnt oranges and browns of fall as Peter and I meandered away from camp. The question had been picking at me, festering within me ever since that odd day, fervent in its insistence that something important had happened.

"He wanted to know if you liked me," Peter shrugged, far too calm in his dismissal for it to be something irrelevant.

"How did he know..." I started, knowing that I'd been the one to give something away and afraid for what it might mean.

"He didn't," Peter laughed carefully. "I think he was trying to figure out just what it was that you were feeling. He doesn't...I don't think he understands that you just don't have as much hate in you as the rest of us. He thinks if you don't loathe me, as he defines it, then there has to be something else going on."

I bit my lip sharply and kept my gaze far from his face. When Peter told me things like this it made it so much harder to maintain my hatred of Jasper, because it made me wonder about that flash, about the regret I'd felt pouring from the tips of Jasper's fingers into my skin, and whether it was something I should tell Peter about—but he already had his own beliefs where it came to Jasper, and I didn't know what I thought about it. All these things flitting through my head were nothing but speculation covered in a fine dusting of wishfulness; I only wanted to believe them because I wanted Peter to be able to find some measure of peace.

I shouldn't allow myself to think these things. I needed someone to blame for all that had happened to me, and just like Peter, it seemed I'd decided Jasper was the easiest target. It was almost as if he'd painted the bulls-eye on his chest himself.

"You lied to him," I pointed out casually, and the right corner of Peter's lip cocked upward. He knew exactly what it was that I was confessing to.

"Did I?" he asked, quirking his eyebrow playfully, and I allowed myself a small moment of humor.

"How did you get away with it?"

Peter sobered with my question, and cast his eyes off into the distance. "Jasper only sees what he wants to. He wants to believe we're friends, that he can trust me...I've never taken advantage of it like that before."

It sure seemed to me that Jasper was the one who was right about that, but I decided not to push Peter's buttons just for the sake of it.

"What do you think it's like?" I asked, clarifying when I turned to see Peter's quizzical expression, "to not even understand the concept of compassion?"

His answer was soft, and laced with regret. "I don't have to imagine, I know. That's the life I lived until I met you."

"You never let the women be treated any less fairly than the men," I argued carefully, not wanting to give him more credit than he was due. Everyone in this place suffered, just because we were all beaten down evenly didn't mean we weren't beaten.

"That's just...what you do," Peter shrugged. "Even Jasper's pretty good about it, well, mostly."

Peter got a faraway look on his face with his words, and after he'd fallen silent for a few minutes I asked, "What is it? Is something wrong?"

It was a silly question, I was sure that nothing would come of it, but surprisingly enough Peter nodded sharply before pressing his lips together.

"It's not important."

"I wish you wouldn't lie to me," I whispered, shifting my gaze to the trees behind his profile. The dark that always swam in his eyes was more intense today, the clench of his jaw as he kept all he felt bottled up was tighter, and I asked him again, "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"Liar," I accused, tilting my head as I tried to read him. It was just as impossible as it always had been.

"That first time I saw you," Peter said quietly, shifting his gaze off into the distance, "I don't even know what happened. You were there, and you were beautiful. You looked like you were dancing...next thing I knew you were bleeding and screaming, and I had a choice to make.

"I know I did the worst thing I could have," Peter continued sharply, before glancing down at me with concern that looked more stubborn than anything else written all over his features, "but I couldn't help myself. I couldn't stand there and watch you die, not when I had a way to keep you. I didn't know what it meant until later, not until I was standing above a man I'd bathed in fire just because he'd looked at you wrong."

It was sort of nice to hear these things, not because it was knowledge I craved, which I did, but more because this was Peter's way of opening up a little. He was answering a question I hadn't posed, and as far as I could tell he'd done it honestly. While I would have liked to examine this new-found disclosure, I was stuck staring at the expression on Peter's face; he looked bitter, and somewhat repentant, though I couldn't have said for sure if my interpretation was correct. There was a certain absence of light in his eyes, some missing quality that I hadn't consciously identified before. It made him look hollow, empty, and my stomach clenched again as I realized something very bad had happened, and he wasn't going to give me a straight answer as to what it was, unless I made him—so I stared him down until he started talking.

Peter kept his gaze steady on mine for nearly a whole minute, before he nodded sharply, and whispered, "Alright. There is something I should tell you, but you have to promise to stay calm...you have to hear me out, okay?"

I nodded my agreement to his terms though I wasn't sure I could keep to them, and allowed myself to settle next to Peter in the waves of crunchy leaves scattered over the ground. My stomach was clenched in knots of dread, and I just _knew_ this was going to be something horrible.

"Jasper and Maria are going to walk the camp." Peter reached over the distance between us to gather my right wrist, and brought it to my lap along with my hand that was closer to him. He took a deep breath, and tightened his restraining hold, and I steeled myself for whatever was about to come.

"They're going to decide who is expendable. Time's up on this batch, Maria wants us to cull the weak."

I swallowed back the uproar of anger and terror Peter's admission brought; even without his warning I would have known this was something he was not supposed to tell me about, but all these revelations swimming through my brain were absolutely infuriating. The oddities of the camp suddenly made sense, how each and every older vampire was in charge of the new ones; they were always preparing, always talking of batches and groups, of recruitment...

We weren't just expendable; we were disposable, and Peter had kept that from me. It was always like this with him, truths told to cover up the lies.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," Peter continued, either completely unaware of the breakdown I was suffering through, or choosing not to comment on it right now. "You're younger than the rest, and Jasper knows you're pretty good in a fight. I just..." he trailed off, pressing a kiss against the shell of my ear. "I'm going to do something very bad in the coming week, and you're right, you deserve to know."

My head whipped around; he was leaning in so close that my nose brushed his before our eyes met, and I almost felt like my soul was bleeding when I asked a question I didn't want the answer to. "You're who's going to do it? How many?"

Peter tilted his head to murmur his response in my ear. "Usually Jasper does it, but he asked me to help this time. I don't know how many...about half."

My lungs deflated completely and then kicked right back into gear; I was sure if I were human and actually needed to breathe, I'd be hyperventilating.

"Shh..." Peter breathed into my hair, and I forced myself to calm down as much as possible—but I couldn't stop the quivering of my bottom lip, or the ache throbbing in my chest.

"You promised me," I whispered with a shaky voice, hoping that he'd realize this fell so far out of his agreement to stop the mindless killing, and refuse to do Jasper this favor.

"I know," Peter said, turning his head again to press his forehead against mine. "I know..."

"Why are you doing this?" I felt defeated, like all those dreams and fantasies I'd built up in my head with the promise of 'someday' were nothing more than worthless wastes of time.

"Jasper's never asked for help with this before, not even once. He...I think he cares this time," Peter said, blowing a thick breath out with his last word before breathing deep and continuing, "Maybe if he's wavering, I can convince him that this isn't what we should be doing. Maybe I can stop it..."

"And if you can't?" I asked, already knowing the answer he'd give.

"Then at least I'll know I tried, and I won't have to wander around wondering what might have happened."

It wasn't exactly logic that I could argue with; in a similar situation I would probably feel the same way, and as we sat together, Peter's hands wrapped firmly around my wrists, his eyes boring into me, I thought that maybe I could understand just where he was coming from in all of this, because we had more in common than I ever would have thought.

"We should just go," I begged, knowing already that he'd refuse me again. We may have been similar, but that didn't mean I didn't have to ask this. "If we leave then you don't have to do this awful thing...what if they decide I'm not worth keeping?"

Peter stood, and paced anxiously in front of me in short strides a few yards at a time, before turning toward me with ferocity burning in the red of his eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you. I _won't."_

"But you won't run unless we have to," I confirmed, biting my tongue against the harsh words that begged to spew forth. Why did he only want to save me on his terms?

"I will leave with you, if that's what we have to do." He said it as if it were somehow different from what I'd said moments earlier, and I wondered if in his mind they really were two different options.

Was it different to flee out of necessity, rather than choice? I didn't think so, but then again, I hadn't nearly as many years on this earth as Peter, or maybe he was just so indoctrinated that the difference was clear only to him.

Perhaps it really didn't matter, but I was hurt at the blatant way he chose Jasper above all others every single time, despite the abuse Peter insisted he suffered at his hands, and I pulled my wrists from his hands angrily. He was always talking about Jasper and chains, and I couldn't understand why he never saw that just like Jasper he could break the iron restraining him, if only he wanted to.

I walked back to camp alone, Peter never made any move to follow me.

I was behaving childishly, and as I gritted my teeth and wrenched my eyes shut while I pressed my back against the concrete wall that I spent nearly all of my time against, I tried to shoulder up the courage to put all these things that bothered me so much behind me. If this was the end I didn't want to waste it being angry with Peter for things that I'd already known he wouldn't do.

It happened sooner than I would have thought, and for a moment my anger tripled in ferocity when I realized that Peter wouldn't have told me what was happening unless I'd made him, before instantly being cooled by the realization that he'd tried to lure me away from camp so I wouldn't be part of this. I felt so very foolish for letting my frustration get the better of me, and I was more than a little surprised at the risk he'd taken; if he'd been found out he would have been in so much trouble.

It was strange, to see anyone besides Jasper exit the large building our camp was situated around, and the sight of the small Mexican girl with her hand wrapped firmly around Jasper's forearm was enough to cause an unusual stillness to fall over the area. They garnered the attention of everyone, and we all surreptitiously watched with rapt attention, while trying to avoid the stares of these two who would decide all of our fates, though I was the only one who knew that.

She was so small, and I thought that she was probably around the same age as me when she'd been turned, if not younger. Her skin was suspiciously clear, and the curl of her lip didn't seem entirely malicious. This was a woman who could put people to their ease; I wondered if that was how she'd managed to obtain Jasper. I felt a little bad, thinking of him as Maria's property, but it was clear that was all he was to her. She led him around like a dog, and graced him with none of her attention. They simply made a slow and wide circuit around the camp, Maria's eyes darting about to meet anyone they passed.

My eyes locked with Maria's before I'd even had enough time to come to terms with what it was they were doing. Maria was inspecting the troops, determining who got to live and die, and my heart jumped into my throat, because I didn't look like I'd be of use to anyone, and she knew nothing about me. The smirk that crossed over her face was haughty as she looked down on me, and I noticed her tap her forefinger across Jasper's arm twice before they continued on their way.

The loathing that rose up in me was unprecedented. All that anger I'd felt toward Peter, and all that hatred directed squarely at Jasper now, it felt like nothing more than a feather fluttering in the wind compared to the rattlesnake hissing in my chest at this tiny woman, and somewhere deep inside I realized that this was what Peter had been talking about when he said I just didn't have as much hate in me as all the rest—_this_ was what it felt like to absolutely despise someone. It was all her fault; every single thing that had been broken inside of Peter had been because of her, and I wanted nothing more than to rip each hair from her head and slice my fingernails through the skin of her neck.

Regret flooded me, crawled up from the dirt and snaked over my body to subdue my wrath, and when my eyes met Jasper's I could have sworn there was something akin to sympathy floating in them. The feeling intensified for a moment, and then it was gone. I wondered if maybe this was his way of telling me he was sorry it all ended up like this; I wasn't so sure that was even a concept that Jasper understood—but I found that the gesture meant something to me, all the same.

Jasper and Maria made their way back to her base, and less than a minute after the door swung shut Peter came storming back into the camp from wherever he'd been watching the procession from. I'd been ready to apologize, but when he ignored me in favor of stalking to his room and slamming the door after him, I decided that maybe I'd let him squirm for a couple of hours. It wasn't my fault that he hadn't deemed me trustworthy to hear of his plan, and his silence had been the reason it backfired. If he'd only learn to let down his walls, then I was sure we wouldn't have nearly as many missteps as we did.

Peter broke before I did, and I was somewhat relieved that he did. I didn't want to be the one to go to him, I wanted him to come to me, if only this once.

The sense of foreboding that filled me was not an oddity this time; I knew the growing dread inside me was justified. This would be my last day, and even that something sank deep within my bones could recognize it.

Fight or flight. It was the most basic of all instincts, and it vibrated through me so quick and strong that I trembled in place for a few seconds before I forced air into my lungs and gritted my teeth. I could have run, could have stretched my legs and let them carry me far away so many times, and each and every one of them I'd floundered. I didn't get to cry out pleas to heaven to save my life after that. I would stay, because if I had ever deserved to be saved, I did not anymore. I'd made my bed, and somewhere along the line I'd chosen Peter. I wouldn't do him the injustice of being fickle now.

Peter caught my eye from across the campfire, and with a deliberate nod began making his way east, past the concrete shell of the tall buildings, and out into the wild. His stare was all the confirmation I needed of the dread clawing its way up my throat, of the absolutely devastation thundering in my ears, and I decided that I wouldn't even bother to ask him what the tapping of Maria's fingers against Jasper's forearm meant. I stood to follow him quicker than usual; it didn't matter who saw us now.

The moment we were alone I turned and I shifted my weight to the very tips of my toes, pressed my lips against his as firmly as I could and threw my arms around his neck; there was nothing else left to do—and this kiss was fire, it was heat and sparks and lava licking at my skin as the pads of my thumbs brushed against his neck and he leaned down toward earth to reach me better. He tasted desperate.

"I can't be without you," he breathed into my mouth, "I don't exist without you here."

I wondered how much of his struggle I had dismissed over the past few months; I knew he'd been having a hard time, but I'd assumed it was something he was dealing with on his own. The greater part of me was consumed with how much I wanted to crawl inside his skin and close all the cracks left behind from a life not many could have survived. I wanted to show him how strong he was, how much good resided within him, even though it was something that had to be searched for.

"We should talk about this," he insisted, his words muffled against my lips, "but I really, really don't want to." He pulled away from my mouth and resumed trailing kisses down my neck, to my collarbone, and then up my throat.

"We'll talk later," I gasped, and I knew the words were a lie, that there wouldn't be a later—but the noose was tangled around my neck already, and there was no use in denying myself what I wanted; there wouldn't be any consequences.

I wasn't destined for the bliss of heaven, or even the nothingness of purgatory. I was going to be sent straight to hell, and staring down a fate like that there was only one thing clear in my mind; Peter was _here_, and I wanted to get everything I could out of what little time we had left.

I'd thought long ago that in another world he could have loved me, that I could have loved him; now I thought that if we'd been given just one more day we probably could have gotten there anyway.

"I just wish we had more time." I breathed the words into his chest, pulling the fabric of his shirt between my clenched fingers. I would not break down, I just wouldn't; I was raised better than that.

"I'll find a way, I will." Peter said the words fiercely, and I wasn't sure which of us he was trying to convince. The way I saw it we'd had our chance to escape, and had let us pass it by. It was too late now.

So I set my determination, and enjoyed my last night with Peter and his sinful kisses—and it wasn't until then that I finally got a glimpse at that man he'd been before things like vampires and wars, hatred and Jasper came crashing into his life. He was sweet, kind, and tender. Desperate in his ragged breaths and fingertips brushing over the skin of my cheeks to trail through my hair—and I wondered if maybe he thought the same thing about me, because I was sure that I'd never been quite so receptive of him before; it was something I was sure to regret the moment this whirlwind stopped spinning.

Maybe all I really needed was to know that he'd miss me when this was all over.

I didn't care one single bit for the angry and knowing glances shot my way when we returned to camp, hair tousled and lungs breathless. We parted ways once we reached the far edges of the buildings, and I would have liked to imagine that he was plotting and planning alone in his room; that in the end, if it came down to a choice between me or Jasper, he'd pick me.

I spent my time wondering if I would ever be able to forgive him if he didn't, that is, if I managed to live through the day.

I had never seen Jasper look anything less than completely put together, he'd certainly never come storming into camp disheveled and bloody before, but later that night, a few hours before the killings were set to begin, that was exactly the scene I was met with.

His normally messy hair was tangled, the pieces stuck together with coagulating blood, a smear of the sticky red spread over his cheek while still more painted his clothes in spatters. He seemed a little less tall than before, and it took me a moment to realize it was because his shoulders were slumped inward, by just the slightest degree. I'd heard stories, and whispers about him over the course of the past months. It was information I'd wished I wasn't privy to at the time, but I had never been met with the reality of the destruction he was capable of like this. I could smell them, the six people he'd killed.

Jasper stared straight ahead with vacant eyes as he moved through the middle of the camp, toward Peter's room, and it was the first time I'd ever seen a vampire that actually looked as they were; dead. Jasper looked lifeless, as though he were a marionette whose strings pulled and moved to conduct him. His feet fell in heavy treads, his movements not quite as precise as they usually were. If I'd had the time to think about it longer, I would have—but I had my own problems right now, and Jasper's issues were low on my list anyway.

I found myself immensely curious about the relationship these two men shared, because despite all Peter's denials of friendship between the two of them, there was clearly something there. Jasper didn't seem the type to depend on anyone, yet here, now, in what appeared to be a slightly darker hour for him, the only thing he focused on was getting to Peter, and the observation made me realize just how little I knew about the both of them.

I wished I'd thought to ask these types of questions before, or at least managed to find the bravery to pose the ones I had pondered to Peter earlier, when the answers might have mattered. I knew that they'd known each other for a couple of years, that Peter had been pretty forceful in his attempts to get on Jasper's good side, and that the accomplishment was something that was unprecedented—but I didn't know _why_ Peter had been so determined, and I didn't know what had happened to make Jasper value Peter above all others. Granted, it wasn't much, but I thought that maybe this one act of Jasper's, this desperation he searched out Peter with, it might go a little ways toward making him a bit less of a monster. Even Jasper needed some sort of comfort every now and then, even if he didn't really know what it was.

Peter and Jasper didn't emerge until the sun began to rise high enough to cast long shadows over the dirt. I found it strange, how now that I was finally looking death right in the face it was suddenly less scary than it had been before. I wanted to believe in Peter, I wanted to trust that he would find a way to somehow skirt the inevitable and extend the time we had together—but the truth of the matter was that I didn't know if it was something he'd be able to do, and I thought that maybe if I swallowed it all back and kept my eyes shut tight I might be able to accept that this was the end.

I moved to sit against the wall of Peter's room, the building I'd awoken in, watching as the others mingled and talked, and still others fought amongst themselves as everyone wondered why some where being called away to never return. I could tell them, break through the veil of uncertainty that draped over our camp and hope the ensuing rebellion was enough to provide me a means to escape—but it was something I'd never do. Peter would be the focus of rage along with Jasper, and I wasn't willing to leave here without him.

Daniel came to pull another away, and I knew that it would be my turn soon. The force of everything I felt in that moment threatened to burst my seams and come flying through the air, and I thought that maybe I understood just how hard it'd been for Peter all these months. He'd kept so much bottled inside, he'd repressed every single tingle that ran over his skin just to keep me as safe as he could, and perhaps that feat of his could lend me the strength I was going to need in order to walk calmly after Daniel to face the reaper.

It was seconds, it was years. It was ten minutes before he came for me.

My eyes found Peter on their own; they'd been trained on him long before the shed came into focus, before the door swung open to reveal him. I could see the evidence of death in the room, but I imagined that was because I knew what I was looking for, and when I realized that Peter was standing stock still in the middle of the room, Jasper to his left, my heart clenched with hurt. He had killed all these people, or at least, he'd helped Jasper do it. He'd broken and smashed what little was left of his integrity for this monster standing next to him, instead of leaving with me.

I felt the change in the air when Daniel left, and the phantom thrumming of my heart as I tried to count down the seconds left in the back of my head. There was no telling when this would begin, or what would happen—how long would it take? The more time ticked by the tenser and angrier I became. Peter had told me he cared about me, and I wanted to yell and scream at him, to call him a liar and spit in his face for it—but none of that was the truth. I could tell from just one glance at the horrified pain painted all over Peter's face that he was dying inside just as much as I was.

Total disbelief swirled in the air all around us, and that was what reminded me that it wasn't just me and Peter staring each other down across the dirt of the floor. Jasper was here, and one glance at him told me all I needed to know; Peter had slipped up, he'd let Jasper into the dark corners of his being, and we were both about to die.

"_Run!_" Peter shouted, but my feet were glued to the floor, either through shock or my own stubbornness, I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that I could choose to die with Peter or live without him, and the wrench of my dead heart and scream of my soul insisted that I stay here. I couldn't live with the uncertainty of what might have been for us, and as I stared at him in blank and unmoving horror my lungs collapsed, my knees trembled, and I gave up defending my line in the sand.

Peter couldn't be considered a good man on his best of days, not here, not now, and I wasn't sure which way this seesaw in my heart would bend in the end—but when the sun set and the day closed he wasn't Jasper's, he was _mine_.

Maybe this is what it all boiled down to, this one single moment when my heart absolutely splintered, and I was left with nothing but the certainty that I was going to die standing by this man. I wondered if there was such a thing as an afterlife, besides the one I was standing at the finale of, or if I would just float away in the breeze as ash, never to see him again.

The realizations were coming too quick, the clock was thundering in the ticking of seconds down to the end, and all I wanted in the entire world was more _time._

I saw Jasper's head turn in slow motion, and when his eyes met mine they were wide, full of something I thought just might be loss. It was the most I'd ever seen from him and that one look of his caused an irrational hope to rise within me. A tangled current burst toward Peter so strong I could almost see it traveling through the air, and when it met Peter his expression crumbled into something so raw and tortured I couldn't stand to even look at it, and instead my gaze made its way to Jasper's confused red eyes.

"Yes," Peter answered lowly, circling around Jasper to stand in front of me before steeling himself, "and I'd kill you if it meant keeping her."

I thought my heart might explode right then and there from the sheer force of everything that pumped through it.

"Go."

It was nothing more than an instantaneous whisper, and had I not seen his lips move I would have sworn it was just the wind toying with the strings of my soul, but there was no denying it; the word had come from Jasper.

"_Go."_

We ran as fast as our legs could carry us; the haunted expression Jasper wore coupled with the agonizing pain he radiated haunted me all the way to Oklahoma. I wanted to turn and look back, to take small steps and contemplate just what had happened back in that shed in Mexico, but Peter's fingers were soldered through mine and he wasn't going to stop any time soon.

It hadn't been my imagination this time, I knew I'd seen it; that barely discernible scrap of man left inside of Jasper, and as I sped my pace to match Peter's I worried that I'd never get that look on his face out of my mind, that he was destined to haunt me for the rest of my life with whispers of could have beens. I should have tried harder to look for him underneath the mess of monster and demon.

We were miles into the Oklahoma border when Peter finally stopped running, and in our stillness the entire world began to crash down all around me as I bent my knees and sent gasps spiraling toward the dirt. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn't strictly necessary to rest my hands on my knees and pant for breath; there was no one chasing us, and I had no wind to lose. A moment later I rounded on Peter and allowed every single moment I'd spent battling over the past seven months to direct my fist into his face.

"_Why?_" I snarled, so overcome with adrenaline, fury, frustration, and relief. "Why in the _hell_ couldn't we have left last night? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to stand there thinking I was about to die, that _you_ were about to die?"

He took the strike with grace, didn't even flinch at my words, and once a minute had passed where the only sound had been my labored breaths he spoke. "I thought I could stop it."

"Well you couldn't," I spat back at him, furious with myself for already leaning in the direction of forgiveness.

"No, I couldn't," he agreed quietly, bowing his head a little as he glanced back in the direction we'd come from. "In the end...I guess in the end he wanted to drown."

"You're so blind," I responded, shoving his shoulder as hard as I could and absolutely fuming at his stubbornness. "If he wanted to drown he'd have killed us."

His eyes shot to mine in a blink, and the look he gave me was so full of stutters and labored breaths that it felt like I might liquefy under his stare.

"I love you," Peter said suddenly, like that was the answer to every single question that spun around us, the words gushing so forcefully from him that it was nearly a shout. He took a step closer, and reached out a hand to run his fingers over my cheek and for the first time a genuine smile spread over his face. I forgot all about trivial things like anger or arguing over who was able to pull the most accurate theory for Jasper's reasoning out of their head, and I let that wisp in me that still detested Peter just the smallest bit go floating away in the wind.

We could start over, we could do all of this again and try to get it right this time.

It was such a beautiful world out here.

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><p><strong>AN: The end! Sort of...there's half of an epilogue that's been sitting on my hard-drive for a couple months now. For some reason the thing just doesn't want to be written. Hopefully it'll get posted eventually.**

**Thanks to everyone reading, and thanks to the lovely ladies who put up with my crazy bitchiness when it came to getting this story out. I'm not gonna lie, it was a bear to write, and SweeneyAnne deserves a commendation for putting up with how ridiculously obnoxious I was about it.**

**Thanks to THEChickNorris and GemmaLisax for pre-reading, and for pimping Belonging out on TwiWrite Headquarters. You two make me cheese like nobody's business. :-)**

**Since I seem to have issues with working on one thing at a time I've got another fic that'll be starting up sometime soon. Jasper and Bella...damn I've missed those two, but not half as much as I've missed a Jasper who says more than two words throughout the entire fic. ;-)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Well, it was a long time coming, but here it is. :-)**

**Beta'd by sweeneyanne & pre-read by AnnaLund and Writergrrrl.**

**Don't own Twilight.**

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><p><strong>[October 1885]<strong>

"It feels good to know you're mine  
>Now drive me far away<br>I don't care where, just far away"  
>-Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away), Deftones<p>

I'd never given much thought to how the world would look through new eyes. As a human I'd rarely been outside of Laredo, and now I had an entire continent to run free across. It was exhilarating—that moment I realized that the further north we fled, the less fighting there appeared to be—and it wasn't long before there seemed to be no conflict at all. We'd been wrong about what lay outside our door. Neither of us were surprised, we'd been lied to about everything, and we knew that now.

Time flowed so differently. Each sunrise brought a certain newness with it, and suddenly the long and winding paths laid out ahead of me were brought into full color. There was contrast and motion where before there had been nothing but a bleak and blurry stasis. The countryside smelled like salvation. The cities, of hope.

It didn't take so long to remember how to smile.

We found little towns to journey through, made up ridiculous histories for ourselves to tell the people foolish enough to try and speak with us, and killed only those who seemed to deserve it—not that we were in any position to judge. It was beautiful, and each pass of the sun overhead brought us ever closer to those people we were before being so carelessly tossed into hell. Every step was one step further away from Maria, and with each footfall I could feel the cracks that fractured me begin to narrow.

Yet, Maria was still there in Peter's finger wrapped too tight around mine. Her presence remained in the hard set of his jaw; she colored all of our actions and dictated our direction. The rage that rose up inside me when I thought of the horrid woman was intense and violent. It tore at my insides and the only thing that could stop me from turning around and running south to destroy her was the promise I made to myself that someday I wouldn't try to restrain the desire.

One day, be it tomorrow or fifty years into the future, Maria would see death coming for her, and death would wear my face.

It used to disturb me, how the thoughts of violence came so easy, how the twitch of my muscles in anticipation would vibrate through my body and beg me to take action—but I was starting to understand these things about myself. I was starting to realize all the ways I'd changed, and why. I was starting to accept that I couldn't blame it all on Peter, or Jasper and all those things that made me different now weren't only because I was no longer human.

It took nearly a year to detach Peter from my side, to convince him that I would be safe out on my own, and that he didn't need to keep his eyes trained on me at all times for fear that if he glanced away for a moment I'd somehow be gone.

Through it all, doubt whispered in the back of my head. Some nights I'd find myself staring at the stars and see only that last glimpse I'd had of Jasper's eyes. All I was able to hear were harsh words spoken with a broken and unused voice.

I wondered what Jasper was doing now—if he was still tied up and shackled in that horrible place or if he, too, had managed to break free. I wanted to talk about it, to let all these thoughts spill out of me and into the air where maybe they could be rearranged into something that made some sort of sense—but that was one of many subjects Peter refused to indulge me in.

It was the first time he left me alone, the day I uttered Jasper's name, though it didn't take him long to come back.

I supposed the question I really wanted an answer to was whether or not what Jasper had done in the end could possibly redeem him for all the rest. I didn't know the first place to start looking for that answer, but I was sure the path there began with Jasper himself. It was useless, wondering. The thought of being in his presence again sent shivers down my spine and terror through my veins. For the time being, fear won out over the need for answers.

So it was that we kept moving. I kept my questions silent and I strangled my curiosities where they stood, for the time being. Peter and I argued enough as it was.

It wasn't that I wanted to pick fights with Peter, but I was tired of tiptoeing around him, trying to find the right way to say things to avoid setting him off; Peter had so many buttons. I was starting to get over what had happened back in that awful camp, and I was frustrated that Peter didn't even seem to be trying. He was living just like he had been back there; smashed to pieces and blindly believing that that was the reality of his situation.

I wished I could be his glue—but the problem was that Peter didn't want to be put back together. Peter only wanted to survive, to keep marching onward.

We hadn't stopped in years, had never taken the time to still our strides and catch our breaths and let the weight of everything cascade all around us. We'd been living in denial, in fear, and the day I realized that was the day Peter's façade came crumbling down.

It was sudden and intense. A completely insignificant summer afternoon when he stopped and turned, and in the blink of an eye it was over for him. It was hard to watch. I hadn't always cared for him, and I hadn't always had his best interests in the forefront of my mind, but I _had_ always been able to depend on him. Peter was a rock, solid—and in that way I'd known him well, right from the beginning. He was always there, always watching, and never before had I been subject to this side of him.

He looked lost.

"What are we doing?" he whispered, as if he hadn't fully understood what was happening until that moment.

"Seems to me like we're running."

Peter's gaze hardened, and he took two steady and firm breaths before speaking again. "I don't know what we're supposed to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to be fighting for now."

"That's okay," I answered. It couldn't have been an easy thing for him to admit. Peter was used to being strong, to being infallible. I imagined he must feel similar to how I did all that time ago when I woke up from one nightmare, only to find I'd been cast into another. It was like he couldn't believe any of this was real.

He took another steady inhale and before I even had the chance to blink I was crushed in his arms and his lips were on mine—and oh, I remembered that sweet feeling of _right_ that went stumbling through my body. I never even thought to miss it, his mouth on mine and his hands tugging at my hair. I almost worried that the grip I had on either side of his neck would somehow damage him.

"Did you mean it?" It was easier than 'do you really love me?'

I barely managed to tear myself far enough away to ask, and to his credit Peter didn't try to make excuses, didn't pretend he didn't know what I was talking about; he looked me straight in the eye and replied, "I think that maybe I did."

And I was okay with that. For now.

We continued wandering wherever the wind took us. Peter opened, by just the slightest degree; though I didn't actually notice it until the day he awkwardly tried to press a casual kiss against my lips in passing, and then gave me a look like the oddity of the moment was all my fault. It wasn't something I'd been looking for up until then; I hadn't wanted to be disappointed.

That gesture became other miniscule acts of affection—and as he toed his way over the line separating what kept him apart from all those around him, the sun seemed to shine a little brighter. The stars held more light, his touch wasn't so heavy, and I knew that if we ever managed to escape this spiral we were caught in, we could be happy together.

He asked me if I'd marry him some day, and I laughed and smiled. I told him that I'd already posed as his wife many times throughout the course of our travels, and it was never all that great, because I couldn't stand the thought of plugging that gaping wound in my human heart with something so meaningless. If we were people, it would be different—but we weren't and it wasn't... all we could really do that meant anything was to live our lives together the best we could. To make it something it wasn't felt wrong, because what we did have was so much better than all the fantasies that had filled my head as a girl.

Through it all there was still the confused and curious red gaze that pierced right through me to that one soft spot remaining. It whispered in my ear and taunted me. It tickled and scratched, haunted me day and night. I had seen it, that thing Peter had sworn was there ever since the day I met him. Jasper's eyes... there really was a person buried in there. The nagging grew and grew, until one day I couldn't keep it at bay any more.

The second time I said Jasper's name, Peter didn't leave—but it also took him an hour before he said anything back.

Years passed. They were blissful and sweet, full of torment and uncertainty, but mostly they stayed balanced somewhere in between. We stayed to the north, more persistently after a brave venture to Alabama had sent Peter into a tailspin. He couldn't stop himself from staring toward Mexico with an anticipatory anger in his eyes. As for me, I could barely stop myself from taking one step, and then another and another, until I came across all the answers that burned within me. It was the first time I truly appreciated the way Peter had so much trouble letting go. Without his fingers gripped firmly around my arm I would have wound up right back where I'd started.

And on a chilly October evening, the same day we'd managed to hack through our restraints five years earlier, I finally managed to muster up enough courage to utter the name for the third time.

"I wonder what Jasper is doing now."

"Fuck him," Peter snarled. He turned his gaze from me and clenched his jaw.

Not so long ago that would have been that. In all the time we'd spent together this line had always existed, and I had never dared to fully cross it. Until now. I sat and watched him, and very nearly trembled with the welling of this _need_ that had been clawing at my insides for almost five years. It ripped and shredded and tore that girl I used to be into pieces—and it was right. We'd left, we never looked back. We abandoned that little piece of Jasper that still remained to rot.

"He saved us," I whispered, and it tore at me so much to think that this man who had risen above all the horror and evils of the world around him may be lost to us now, just when he had the best chance to redeem himself.

"I know," Peter replied in a flat tone as his fingers clenched into fists.

"I don't think I can... it's been so long... " I pressed my forehead to my knees and screwed my eyes shut, trying to just breath in and out though the ache of my heart. "I don't think I can stand the idea of leaving him there one second longer. We should have taken him with us, how could we have just left him there?"

"Charlotte... I think if he wanted to leave he would have." Peter said the words carefully, knowing it wasn't the answer I wanted, and I found myself perplexed at how we'd managed to completely swap sides of this argument. Peter was calm though, for the moment, and calm was something I could work with.

"How could you give up on him? After all the times you defended him, after all you told me?"

"Because that wasn't just our chance, Char!" Peter snapped, the volume of his voice rising with each word. "That was his chance, too! He could have left! Every single time he has the chance to break his chains, he doesn't, and I am _tired_ of trying to help someone who doesn't want to be saved!"

"I want to go back for him," I said as fierce as I was able, and Peter's jaw dropped in shock.

"Absolutely not," Peter responded, his jaw set and eyes narrowed, and I fixed him with a glare, just to show him how serious I was.

"I saw him, Peter. That man you always said was there, I saw him, and I will _not_ leave him in that horrible wasteland one instant longer. It was wrong of us to go without him, and you know it."

"Charlotte—"

"He told me he was sorry," I whispered as I felt my lips curl downward with the phantom springing of tears in my eyes. "He... he felt it, Peter."

Peter was wavering, and though it nearly made me sick to do it, I solidified my win with the cheapest shot possible. "We owe him. You owe him, and you _know_ that if he got away from there then things would be different for him. Don't take the low road just because you're still angry. I can't live with this."

I was playing dirty, but I couldn't bring myself to feel too bad about it. The one who taught me how to strike with such precision was the same man I was trying so desperately to convince to do the right thing. And I knew that it was, I knew that the more steps I took from the past the more persistent the itching under my skin would get, because even now, even after all I'd done and seen, I knew that what we'd done was wrong.

"I don't know if I can do this, even for you."

"What about for yourself?" I shot back. It was so tiring to be caught up in the battles Peter waged with himself and the world around him in some sort of effort to fill the void left in him. He had to fight something, it was just who he was after all this time.

"You are manipulating me," he realized after a moment, and his eyes narrowed. "Where did you learn that from?"

I knew him well enough to know that our argument was over, and I smiled. "From you, of course."

He stared at me with a set jaw and a hard look in his eyes, and when he let his gaze shift to the side I knew that he would see reason.

"Okay. But you're not coming."

"_What?_ No! I'm going with you!"

"_No, _you're not," Peter thundered. "You are going to stay right the fuck here. You are not going anywhere _near_ that place. These are my terms. Take it or leave it."

It was outrageous for him to demand that I stay put, and I was about to give him a piece of my mind for it—after all we'd been through, after everything that had happened to us in that horrible place he couldn't possibly expect me to let him go back there alone—but then he continued in a softer tone.

"I won't let you go back there. I can't stand the thought of it."

I shouldn't have agreed, but there was something in the urgency of his declaration that kept me from immediately refusing to cooperate. It was like having an objective, a goal, and something to protect was enough for Peter to pull himself up and together, at last.

"I don't think I can handle you going alone," I said. I already knew that was exactly what would happen. I wouldn't deny Peter his fire, and I knew first-hand exactly how capable he was. If he said he could accomplish this, then he could. That didn't mean I had to like it, though.

Peter smiled tightly. "They won't even see me coming. If he's alive, I'll get him out. For you."

"You couldn't seriously think he's dead." This time it was me with a grim turn of my lips. It just wasn't possible; Jasper had been made for that camp. Maria may have been in charge, but it was only because Jasper never thought to overthrow her. In a rush of hatred, I wished that he had.

Peter held my gaze for half a minute before agreeing. "No. I don't believe there is anything that could take him down, and he would never go without a fight."

We edged south, Peter constantly checking ahead and behind. It seemed he was struggling with the logistics, trying to figure out just how far he could take me before it was too big of a risk and balance that need with how much distance he could cope with.

Eventually Peter settled on an old and derelict hunting shelter at least a day's run from Maria's territory. She wouldn't be on the outskirts; her camp would be in the thick of it, protected from all sides. I wasn't sure who was more nervous, though Peter undoubtedly did a better job of coping. He always did.

So I stood firm, and let him go. It felt like drowning.

I wasn't sure what to do, how long to wait. I should not have let Peter talk me into staying put. Every hour that ticked by brought with it another horrifying scenario of what could go wrong with this gamble. What if I'd put too much faith in those flickering seconds that convinced me Jasper was in need of saving; or, even worse, what if we were too late. The six months I had spent in Maria's camp were the greatest hell I could imagine—Jasper had survived not only the past five years, but also seventeen before... it was incomprehensible.

Three days passed, and they felt every bit as hard as those five years we'd sprinted across the countryside.

The whistle cut through the air, sharp and smooth on day four. I sprang to my feet and started running before I could even comprehend what it meant. All I knew was that I had heard it before. That whistle was Peter's.

The first thing I noticed when I found them was that Jasper's mask had fallen; he was wide-eyed, and his eyes darted all around as he took in the area with an expression of child-like awe on his face. They hadn't been running, not like I had. Jasper had obviously been slowing them down with his analysis of the surroundings. I'd never really considered it before, that he'd never seen any of the world that wasn't covered in blood or rife with violence. This was going to be difficult for him.

And he _scared_ me, he really did—but I shoved down all the fear and hatred I had for this man who had ensured my first seven months as a vampire were miserable, and took one deep breath before forcing my feet forward. Peter's fingers curled around my arm the moment I was within reach. It was rare for him to do something as sweet as kiss my hair; I couldn't help but smile at the gesture. It made me feel steady.

"Hello, Jasper." The words caught in my throat and came out far less confident than I wanted, but it didn't matter. Jasper's gaze only settled on me in passing as his eyes swept the landscape with some strange wonder.

I found it odd that when Peter had been presented with this calm and peaceful world he'd kept himself locked down and stoic; I was sure if I stood still and watched for long enough I would be able to see every last brick fall from that wall Jasper had built around himself so long ago. This was right. This was what was meant to happen—and Peter would get over it in time. That was the one resource we now had unlimited access to.

We stayed at the hunting shelter—there wasn't anywhere better to go. For the time, it was probably best to let Jasper adjust slowly. He still didn't speak. He didn't do much of anything. It was strange to be confronted with a Jasper who was more withered than vicious. He only hunted when Peter did.

I always fed alone.

It wasn't until a bright spring day—nearly five months after Jasper had come back into our lives—that the little changes finally converged into something significant.

Jasper stared out the window, silent as the day I'd met him, so it wasn't surprising that the sound of his quiet, deep voice nearly made me jump out of my seat. It was only the second time I'd ever heard it.

"I think... I had a sister once," he mumbled, closing his eyes tight, like if he thought about it hard enough she'd appear before him. "Younger, smiling..."

"Do you remember what she looked like?" I asked after a few uncomfortable minutes, and Jasper nodded as he opened his eyes and turned his head back toward the window, a wake of misery emanating from his corner.

"Like you," Jasper answered, and my heart ached a little more for him when he mused, "I wonder what she'd think of me now..."

I thought the question was probably rhetorical, but I found myself asking, "Do you want an honest answer to that?"

Jasper stilled for a moment before pressing his lips together and nodding his head, acceptance floating in the breeze that trailed through the open window toward me.

"I think she'd be very upset with you, but I also think that if you gave her reason to, she'd forgive you for what you've done."

"Is that how you would feel, if it were your brother?" Jasper asked quietly, and I could almost hear the plea in his voice, could very nearly taste the desperation that pulsed through the air for less than half a second.

I could have told him anything. I could have lied and said that he was hopeless; could have embellished the truth and said he was a mere four steps away from something great—but in the end I couldn't fall to either extreme. I just nodded my answer to his question silently, all the while my head spun as I contemplated this new side of Jasper that I never would have guessed existed.

In the end I had to concede that this wasn't the same man I remembered. Something had eaten him alive from the inside out all those years ago, and I swallowed the rampant fear that thundered through me at the very sight of him, and gingerly took a seat next to him on the floor, only two inches separating us.

"Tell me about her," I requested quietly. "Your sister."

Jasper took a deep breath through his nostrils, and let the lids of his eyes drift shut again. "Her hair was exactly the same color as yours, and curly, like mine. I remember this feeling of her weight on my back, and running barefoot... I remember she cried when I left."

I didn't think there was anything I could possibly say that could convey just how much I empathized with him. I'd lost my family, too. Jasper glanced at me before looking back out the window. He took a deep breath, and kept talking.

I watched Jasper carefully as he spoke, and by the time he'd exhausted all the memories that had come floating to the surface of his mind I'd made up my own. I'd been through too much, had come too far to walk out of this with nothing; Jasper needed forgiveness for what he'd done, and I didn't care how long it took or how difficult it was, I'd find a way to go that extra mile. If it took me a hundred years, I'd find a way to forgive him, because I deserved to get something out of this mess, and if I were honest with myself, so did Peter and Jasper.

It wasn't easy—but then again, it wouldn't have meant much if it was.

It was a strange life we carved out for ourselves. For the first time it felt like Peter and I were finally starting to build something that was real; Peter and Jasper were carving an actual friendship from the wasteland that spread around them. It was beautiful, in a way. If time had taught me one thing, it was that the miles behind would never be as vast as the span in front. It was endless. It didn't matter how far we'd fallen, we had all the time in the world to pick ourselves back up.

As it turned out, I liked to watch Peter and Jasper talk; if only because it was something I'd never been privy to until recently. They would sit out in the trees, and I would busy myself with some unnecessary task, position myself just right to overhear. It was good to see Peter open up in any way, even if he was still angry with Jasper, even if it wasn't me he was talking to. Some things just take time.

"It's not like that, not really," Peter explained quietly, casting a glance over in my direction as I shamelessly eavesdropped on the pair of them under the pretense of hanging clothes on the line. "It's not about finding someone you care about, it's about finding someone who's worth it."

"Worth what?" Jasper asked, his voice low. It was still so very strange to hear him speak. I wondered if the gravely quality his voice had was due to all the time he'd spent silent, or if that was just how he sounded. I doubted even Jasper knew the answer to that question.

"Everything." Jasper's eyes flashed to where I was concealed, and for just a fraction of a second I could have sworn the very corner of his lip quirked upward, as if he knew I was there. As if he knew I needed to hear it.

The gesture was gone as quickly as it came, and all that was left was a slightly less valid uncertainty fluttering through the air. I watched the pair of them converse, and I knew that these were the walls starting to tumble down. This was the beginning.

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><p><strong>AN: Much love to all of you. Thanks for reading, reviewing, and reccing. It's weird for this one to finally be over, but I had to finish writing it sometime. :-)**


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